


latibule

by wolver



Category: Men's Hockey RPF
Genre: 2020-2021 NHL Season, Angst, Angst with a Happy Ending, Homophobic Language, Implied/Referenced Homophobia, M/M, Philadelphia Flyers, Smut, Toxic Characters, covid did not happen in this
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-15
Updated: 2020-10-09
Packaged: 2021-03-04 17:33:24
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 40,601
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25290181
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/wolver/pseuds/wolver
Summary: (n.) a hiding place; a place of safety and comfort."You're Nolan Patrick, right?" The guy presses on whether he gets an answer or not (he doesn't), "Bro, it's sweet we get to play together. You're fucking sick; your stick-handling skills are off the charts, my man, this is gonna be so sweet."Nolan can fucking feel the vibrations of Travis stifling a laugh, but of course Travis isn't going to throw him a rescue line like the fucker that he is. All Nolan can really do is stare blankly -- his first choice of words are highly inappropriate and he smothers them into an unintelligible mumble.
Relationships: Travis Konecny/Nolan Patrick
Comments: 80
Kudos: 411





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> please pay attention to the tags!

Nolan sits in the locker room, half-dressed and distracted by TK -- story of his life, really -- though it's a story he knows well, and he knows the story that Travis is telling so he's two for two. The forty pounder-- _no no, it's not vodka, either_ , Travis says with a laugh, _but god help me I needed it that day_ ; the forty pounder fish that got away despite all of Travis' heroic efforts to wrangle in the beast. The story ends with a ripped net and Travis trashing the boat in rage -- it's a miracle, really, that the boat still floats.

_How the fu-uck did that even happen?_

"Ate right through the net. I'm sure it did." Travis says as though it's the most logical conclusion.

"It did not," Beezy is arguing with him, eyes wide. "Fish don't eat." That's probably the stupidest thing Nolan's heard all day, and that's saying something when he's been in the company of some stupid as shit hockey players for most of it.

Travis fixes him a look. "Then how do they live, eh?!" Travis' voice escalates until he's almost shouting. "They aren't-- aren't frickin' robots, _what the hell_? How can you live and not eat? They breathe and eat and, yanno," he makes an obscene gesture with an index finger and his other hand shaped into a circle, "boink each other too. It's a whole process, my man. The circle of fucking life here."

Nolan's laughing to the point of tears, his face blood red with the strain of it, while Beezy's look keeps getting more and more horrified. Travis is absolutely hamming it up for attention -- probably specifically Nolan's attention, like he doesn't have his attention nearly 100% of the time -- and Beezy doesn't seem to realize he's in a spot where he can't win.

"Please stop, I don't need to know this," Beezy moans in despair. He bunches up discarded tape from his gear and wads it up, trying to poke it into his ears.

"You're going to scar the rookie," Nolan mumbles once he can breathe again.

"What did he say? Did he just call me a rookie?" Beezy asks, more and more offended, while Travis argues, "He's old enough to know better. Unlike you, Patso."

Nolan shoves at him. Travis shoves back.

"Isles tomorrow!" Someone shouts from across the room and everything is light and easy.

"Day after tomorrow, fuckface!" Coots corrects with a laugh.

Volume is loud and spirits are high. Even Nolan feels on top of the world. It's a brand new season, another chance at the elusive cup and everyone's chomping at the bit. Preseason has barely gotten out of the gate, but they're all ready to put last year behind them and turn that loss into experience that makes them stronger. 

And of course: _fuck the Penguins_. Unity always makes them stronger.

Travis has Nolan pushed halfway down into the next stall, and he's still trying to bodily shove him down further, until he's in Kevin's stall and basically on his lap. It's a tactic that Travis has employed many times in the past and even the mere familiarity, that he's here and he's back and TK can do this with him again, has Nolan biting back a stupid giggle. He tries to keep up the facade to bitch at him to stop. So Travis can leer and say _you're both big boys_. 

The mating ritual of two rare Canadian species almost too stupid to live G would classify this, probably. And Nolan would classify him as El Captianus Stupidus (though never to his face because he wants to live).

Except Nolan gets distracted when two suits walk into the room. Travis tries to get his attention back, pinching high on his thigh, sharp and painful, and Nolan jerks but he doesn't look away. "Hey, stop, look," he says in a low voice. Travis sighs loudly in his ear but follows his gaze all the same.

"Oh no," Travis says in a forced monotone. "Are we getting shipped to boarding school?"

It's ridiculous because Travis is ridiculous and Nolan gets caught up trying to elbow him in the ribs. He must find somewhere ticklish because Travis laughs suddenly, a low happy giggle where his breath tickles Nolan's ear and sends a shiver down his spine. Nolan fights to keep a straight face, sure they're making a scene because they always make a scene, but when he looks up no one's watching. 

Except--

He's startled to make eye contact with someone he's never seen before. While this guy, _this kid_ , isn't wearing a suit he's standing with them and Nolan's brain slowly kicks back to life, assessing. Maybe he looks vaguely familiar, probably a kid from Lehigh, and-- why the hell is he still staring at Nolan? His face is passive, but there's something unsettling about the intensity in his eyes. Directed right at him. If Nolan saw him on the street he'd shove Travis between them and walk away quickly. Not really one to back down from a fight, but. 

No thanks, you know?

"Everyone, listen up." Nolan's gaze darts away first to some exec that he couldn't name if he tried. Nolan's had dealings with him in the past; when the migraines had become an issue the team had wanted to one on one with him, shoot the shit and show their support, while also giving a thinly veiled threat. Because grubby fucking weasels and their money and how they hate wasting that on a second overall pick like Nolan if he's not going to produce.

Nolan sighs, feeling his good mood evaporating. "Fuckin' ass weasel," he mumbles and hears a soft exhalation of surprise from Travis. Nolan hesitates a moment before explaining in a low voice, "He's the one that thought I was faking."

Travis grimaces in sympathy. "Does look like a weasel," he agrees, his own voice low. "Hope he doesn't go near any wooded areas, I might mistake him for one and what a shame that might be, eh?"

"Shame," he agrees. Nolan is distracted with TK being so close next to him -- neither of them have put even an inch of space between them despite their mingling body heat that's borderlining too fucking hot. Nolan feels a drop of sweat slither down the back of his neck. He's thinking about the press of Travis' thigh along his own and realizes that they haven't heard a word of what was said. "Shit, what did they even say?" They're all huddled around G's stall now and Nolan figures it's not that important anyway.

Travis can only shrug and scoots back down the bench to his stall. He bends down to untie his skates. "Rule numero uno is to never tell hockey players anything important after practice or a game. That's probably the golden rule. That, or maybe it's don't forget the coffee."

"Never forget the coffee," Nolan echos dryly. He waits until Travis straightens back up. "Shut up and untie my fucking skate." It draws a soft chuckle from Travis who pats his lap, and Travis, give him credit where it's due, is so used to this song and dance that he doesn't flinch anymore when there's a skate blade inches from his junk.

"You are so fucking bossy, bud." His words sound fond as fuck and Nolan feels himself responding to the attention. Nolan's trying to hide behind his curtain of damp hair, but he suspects Travis sees the flush anyway because he pats the top of his foot. Then his hands deftly untie his skate and pats his lap for the next.

"Hey boys." The voice cuts through Nolan so unexpectedly that he startles in surprise -- he mentally curses himself for getting so distracted with Travis, though really, he's not even sure what he expects. Travis is a distraction of the worst kind, always and forever. Nolan schools his face to be unreadable and looks up.

The kid is standing there and predictably staring at Nolan again. This close Nolan can see how dark his eyes are, how they give nothing away.

"Hey bud," Travis says as Nolan says, "What." Not even a question, his voice flat. Even Travis' voice isn't as welcoming as it could be -- if anything, he sounds annoyed that they're being interrupted. It nearly makes Nolan crack a smile.

"You're Nolan Patrick, right?" The guy presses on whether he gets an answer or not (he doesn't), "Bro, it's sweet we get to play together. You're fucking _sick_ ; your stick-handling skills are off the charts, my man, this is gonna be so sweet."

Nolan can fucking feel the vibrations of Travis stifling a laugh, but of course Travis isn't going to throw him a rescue line like the fucker that he is. All Nolan can really do is stare blankly -- his first choice of words are highly inappropriate and he smothers them into an unintelligible mumble.

G walks up then, sending major _get a room vibes_ without explicitly saying the words, clears his throat. Nolan glares at G and doesn't give two fucks if he's their bossy and occasionally terrifying captain. TK's hand continues to rest on his laces, not even pretending to be fazed, and sits back to enjoy the show. Throw the man a bag of popcorn while we're at it -- it's gonna be one helluva show. 

All through this exchange the kid will not quit fucking staring at Nolan. It's unnerving.

"Pat, I'm glad you've met your new linemate," G says and Nolan feels Travis' grip tighten on his foot in reaction.

"I'm Gilly," the kid offers as Travis says, "Wait."

"Great," Nolan says, voice devoid of any emotion. It'd been too much to hope he'd slot right back in where he'd been before -- though at this point Nolan's just ready to play hockey; he'd even accept fourth line minutes as long as he can play.

"But Patty's our linemate," Travis pushes through.

"Pat's been out an entire season. He's starting on the third line. Baby steps, Konecny."

"Looks like he's my liney now," Gilly says and despite the light tone those are fighting words. No one else seems to notice the change in the air -- Travis' hand tightens even more on his foot and no one notices the shift in TK, from playful to protective in the blink of an eye.

Nolan holds very still. Gilly exchanges a few words with Beezy, laughing. G smirks at something.

"I'd watch what you say around here," Travis says and his grin is sharp, cold. "I wouldn't want you to be hung out to dry by some of the vets, yanno? Just a word of advice, bud." His words sound easy, but Nolan can hear the underlying threat. Gilly's eyes narrow slightly.

G does not look impressed and he turns to Gilly. "Ignore him. His feathers get ruffled sometimes when you talk about Patrick." A pause, and then the traitor says, "They're the token married couple. Flirting and bickering. You get used to it." 

Nolan's lips flatten into a line, his face heating in annoyance.

"Oh, one of those," Gilly says with a laugh -- it sounds forced, fake. There's a beat where things hang awkwardly in the air before Gilly rushes to say, "I'm totally cool with that, by the way. No worries." 

"Can you-- _not_ ," Nolan mutters to G. It's hard to force out the words, pretending like this conversation is nothing except a means to ruffle their feathers. "Don't ruin the real proposal or he'll cry about it for weeks."

Travis laughs next to him. It sounds forced. "Nols is a picky motherfucker. He wouldn't accept the ring I made out of shredded netting. It came from my heart, isn't that enough, baby? Sweetcheeks?"

"Assface," Nolan replies smoothly and flips Travis the bird. His eyes have remained on Gilly, though, challenging. It's nearly imperceptible but Nolan sees the flicker of unease before it's wiped away completely, a neat and clean slate of pleasantry. He's good -- Nolan wouldn't have noticed if he wasn't already looking for it. 

Nolan mentally checks out of the conversation -- he focuses on Travis finally untying his skate and tugging the boot off before he shoves Nolan's foot to the ground.

"There you go, lazy." Travis says and shoots him a smile that doesn't quite reach his eyes.

G and Gilly have wandered off to bother someone else.

"What the flippin' fuck was that shit?" Travis asks under his breath. Nolan doesn't reply. "Get fuckin' personal introductions? When I was a rook they just threw me to the sharks. Sink or swim, do or die, baby. I think I nearly vibrated out of my skin the first time I had to be in here."

"That wasn't that long ago," Nolan replies, distracted.

Travis sighs. "Patty, I'm ancient. Did you hear my shoulder pop? I need a walker soon. Where's my fucking hearing aid, eh?" 

"Shredded netting--?" Beezy's voice drifts to them, seemingly out of nowhere. But Nolan looks and finds him still seated in his stall next to Travis, apparently having been there the entire time.

"Oh my god," Nolan mumbles to himself. He gently presses his fingertips against his eyes, feeling sparks of pressure and just-- it's all noise, so much fucking noise. 

"Pat?"

It reminds him of the way a migraine would hit: a slow crescendo, warning signs scattered here and there, and all so subdued enough that he can pass it off, expect to be okay in a minute. Then it hits him like a freight train and completely incapacitates him. This is very similar, right now, and Nolan feels the beginning curls of panic licking through his insides, bright and hot, and he cannot be getting a breakthrough migraine now of all times--

"Patty."

Nolan opens his eyes. And once the spots clear from his eyes he sees his vision is fine. There's no aura. He looks at Travis who's watching him with a searching gaze.

Beezy's voice reaches Nolan's ears again, "He tried to give you a ring from shredded netting?"

"Shut the fuck up," Nolan snaps, agitated, and swallows when Travis frowns at him. He tries to settle himself when all his nerves are jumping. "Please, just. Go bother Frosty for awhile, eh?"

The locker room is already halfway cleared by the time they finally get their own shit together and look presentable for the outside world -- or, at least, most of their shit is together. Their hair is definitely still noticeably damp; Nolan's hair will drip every so often down the back of his neck and into the collar of his shirt. He retucks it behind his ears and Travis reaches out to pinch a droplet of water clinging at some of the ends, rubbing his wet fingers together as he draws his hand back.

"Sushi?" Travis asks.

"Fuck yes," Nolan says with feeling.

It's the first official day the group has been back together, the first day Nolan's been fully cleared and allowed to take part, and Nolan's already worried if this is an omen. This is an important season for them, for Nolan especially because he's making up for lost time. He can't afford any distractions -- at least, any distractions he can't work through (because of course, TK is always going to be the worst distraction for Nolan, but that one is safe enough, and supportive). 

Maybe Nolan's getting ahead of himself here, getting too worried over nothing. The kid might have only been nervous, or starstruck, which. Over Nolan? Weird, but not unfathomable, right? Nolan probably completely misread everything. It's always weird being the new guy in town with all the expectations. He tries to brush it off, but it still sits weird in his head. Thinks about maybe bringing it up, asking Travis what he thinks--

Nolan glances at him, considering. Travis is weaving seamlessly through the afternoon traffic with an ease that Nolan could never replicate. Not that he'd admit it, but it's why he usually passes his keys to Travis without much complaint. Philly traffic is _appalling_. Plus, Travis is way better with directions.

"Like what you see, bud?" Travis' voice breaks his thoughts.

"He's a homophobe," Nolan blurts. That's certainly not the first way he'd usually go about answering that question, but apparently it's the route he's taking today. He winces and clutches the bag of to-go sushi on his lap tighter, feeling his cheeks slowly getting redder.

That's not the answer Travis is expecting either because he takes a moment to respond. There's a moment where the only sound in the car is Travis' god awful country that Nolan can't even work up any distaste for right now -- it just feels like TK.

"Strong statement," Travis finally says. "I respect that. I'm awed at your certainty, I think, if you're certain at all or just thinking out loud or what, but I definitely respect it, buddy."

"I'm certain."

A slow nod as Travis squints at the road in thought. "Okay, so, then what makes this one any different than half the guys in the league? Are you afraid I'm gonna try and kiss him? Do you think he secretly wants my hot bod? Are you worried?" He draws out the word worried like he's gently taunting Nolan.

"No one wants your hot bod." Nolan snorts. "And I'm trembling in my boots, for sure." He sees Travis sneak a look at his shoes and Nolan rolls his eyes.

"You're not wearing boots," Travis points out. "And you wound me. So hard."

"Damn," Nolan says flatly. "I'm going to have to find another idiot to drive me around. Think Kev will take me back?"

"You're such a stupid boy, I love it," Travis says with a laugh. It doesn't even make sense. Nolan punches him hard in the bicep. " _Ow_. Okay, okay! Down dog. I'm not even going to dare to guess who you might be talking about, even if I suspect who it is. So, who?"

"Gilly."

"Yep," Travis agrees, popping the p sound. "He's a fucking dick. And he kept staring at you. Not that I blame him, because you're really hot and all, but any dude that gets special intros, I dunno. It was all weird. But it makes sense. S'why you turned all feral dog and nearly took Beezy's head off as a side job."

Nolan scowls but he doesn't deny it. "He wouldn't shut the fuck up."

Travis laughs. "I know! Bud, I know. I thought he was gonna have a stroke about the ring."

"I'm going to have a stroke--" Nolan echoes in a snotty tone, cutting off when Travis shoves at his head. He shoves Travis' hand away as it repeatedly keeps trying to smack, pinch, do whatever to annoy him, and Nolan yelps unattractively when Travis manages to tweak the soft flesh at his armpit. "Stop it! You're fucking driving, you freakin' maniac."

"I'm in the parking garage, it's fine."

Somehow they manage to park without any incident. Travis threatens with his stupid grabby hands in the elevator, but Nolan threatens eating all of the sushi and it's a delicate truce. He refuses to walk in the door when Travis gestures all you first bud like he's some gentleman and Nolan absolutely knows better. It's a stalemate for a few beats, where they stand like idiots outside the door, before Travis eventually walks in first, but he walks through the door backwards and never takes his eyes off Nolan.

"Do you want a beer?"

Nolan mumbles in approval and goes to sit out the sushi on the coffee table. It's a rookie mistake that he loses track of Travis, because when he's least expecting it he feels arms around his waist from behind and his body being lifted off the ground.

"Holy _shit_ ," he nearly screeches in surprise. "Put me the fuck down, Travis!" 

It's fucking hot that Travis can lift him like he's nothing, when Nolan's a big boy as Travis likes to say.

Travis laughs happily into his ear before he tosses Nolan at the couch, trying to give himself the advantage by getting Nolan off kilter. Except Nolan's quick to his feet and he gets his arms around Travis' middle. It turns into a full wrestling match; Travis can be a squirmy motherfucker when he wants to be so it's a struggle at first, until they both drop down to their knees and Nolan can use his weight to topple them over. He gets Travis in a headlock. Game over.

"I win," he grits into Travis' ear, breathless. 

"Never," Travis taunts back and snakes a hand between them to squeeze Nolan's cock, half-hard in his shorts. It punches a soft breath from Nolan. 

"That's cheating."

"Nothing's cheating in love and war, baby."

"I don't think that's how that goes," Nolan says dryly, but he relaxes his grip. Travis takes the opportunity to immediately flip Nolan onto his back. The floor's uncomfortable, but Travis is a pleasing weight on his lap so Nolan lives with the discomfort. He lazily grinds up against Travis' ass.

TK leans over him, a hand on each side of Nolan's head, and he smiles down at him. "You're not complaining," he murmurs. His hair is falling in a curtain around his face and Nolan reaches up to tuck a piece behind his ear. 

"I'm not complaining. You're just stupid."

Travis sticks out his tongue, but doesn't argue, too distracted with the rock of their hips. Soon Travis is squirming on top of him, thighs clenching and unclenching Nolan's hips. He's panting softly, head bowed so his chin is tucked against his chest. 

Then without warning he's sliding down Nolan's body and tugging his cock from his shorts. Travis' mouth is hot and wet when he swallows him down, most of his length in one go. He chokes a bit and he's drooling and Nolan's so turned on it hurts. His hands tangle in Travis' hair and lightly tug. It never fails to make Nolan squirm and his toes curl when Travis figures out how to flatten his tongue along the underside of Nolan's cock.

He glances down to watch Travis, caught on the way that his mouth stretches around Nolan's cock. At least until he sees Travis' hand shoved down the front of his own shorts, probably fisting his cock, like this is absolutely doing it for him and fuck. There's a surge of heat down Nolan's spine and he feels unhinged, desperate with it. His hips buck hard without his consent and Travis chokes.

"Fuck, Pat," he rasps between coughs. "Watch your fucking step, bro." Nolan stares pointedly at where Travis' hand disappears into his shorts. It takes Travis a moment to follow his gaze before he smirks. "You like that sucking your dick gets me hot, Patty? I could suck your dick all day. Just no fucking choking me." He swats hard at Nolan's thigh.

Nolan lets his head hit the floor with a soft thump. "It was peaceful," he complains to the ceiling. And because he's not paying attention that's when Travis takes the opportunity to swallow his cock back down. Nolan makes a strangled noise and fights to keep his hips from bucking.

Travis is no expert at blowjobs, but he makes up for it in enthusiasm -- like in every other facet of his life. So Nolan isn't exactly expecting Travis to deepthroat him completely, with his nose pressed firmly against Nolan's public bone, and it's so goddamn hot that Nolan doesn't have any warning when his orgasm hits, and it hits him like a truck.

"Fuck," he says loudly, into the silence of the room, and comes down Travis' throat. He feels Travis choke around him again, but he recovers to swallow most of the come. "Holy motherfucking christ, Teeks. Sorry, sorry. I-- fuck." Nolan thinks his brain is broken. 

Travis gives a breathy laugh against his hip. "I'll take that one as a compliment," he rasps out and fuck, his voice is wrecked. If Nolan hadn't just came he'd probably be hard again and raring to go.

"Do you need…" Nolan trails off.

"I'm good," Travis says, which, also short-circuits Nolan's brain yet again because that means, fuck, he came in his shorts.

At some point Travis shucks his boxers, uses them to clean up, and then tugs his shorts back on. They end up arranged against the back of the couch, right there on the floor, and Travis is slumped against his side. He watches TV with heavy eyes and picks at the sushi -- Nolan simply stares at the TV in a daze, not seeing much. Their appetites will surface again later, voracious. 

The sports talk on the TV turns into an old Alabama football game. Nolan has no idea where the fuck Alabama even is. He's too wrung out to reach for the remote.

"You never did get that beer," Nolan muses. "Did you?"

"Nah," Travis replies and clears his throat again, trying to bring his voice back. He shoots Nolan a grin. "I was a little distracted."

-

Nolan's high hopes for the season are quickly dwindling down into nothing but the dirt on the soles of his shoes. It's only been two weeks, for fuck's sake, but this season already sucks and he sucks and they're in a hole and it's only getting deeper with each game they play.

It's frustrating because Nolan knows his issue -- his fucking homophobic linemate that Nolan just cannot find any chemistry with. Which is a surprise to absolutely no one, except maybe AV. For some fucking reason AV is desperate for this line to work, it feels, and keeps forcing the issue. And it keeps backfiring and pissing Nolan off and it's a vicious cycle that Nolan wonders if he'll ever break free. But coach is coach and Nolan sucks it up.

Like, it's obvious that Gilly hates his goddamn guts. No matter how hard he tries to pretend to be nice to Nolan and adopt that cheerful attitude, well. It's all fake and Nolan can see right through it. Gilly hates him and Nolan really doesn't know why -- like yeah, Nolan's an asshole, this isn't news, he knows this. So he prefers to actively piss people off, not just something passive that has to do with like, him either being gay or not gay, which. Nolan doesn't even know if that's the issue, honestly. Like it's obvious that Gilly is pretty damn homophobic, he tipped his hand right from the start, but Nolan can't tell you if that's the reason for this bullshit or not.

Right now they're mutually ignoring each other and that's good. That's uncomplicated. That's probably the best he can expect right now.

Either way, Nolan doesn't give a fuck what the issue is. He wants to win games. And he wants his line to stop sucking ass. That's it -- he's a simple guy here: hockey and Travis, that's all he wants.

But then there's the whispers. Most of them seem to happen whenever Gilly is around and it always goes suspiciously quiet when Nolan gets closer. It puts his guard way up and he's exhausted just from trying to protect himself, to block out all the bullshit, and keep his head in the game.

His head is not in the game most days, though, and he struggles to find his rhythm on the ice. He has to work for every inch that he does get, fighting tooth and fucking nail. It's exhausting to play in an uphill battle with himself, his line and the other team all against him at the same time. It doesn't help that the team is not winning many games right now, either, leaving everyone tense and clutching their stick tighter.

So, basically it's a whole slew of shit right now and everything fucking sucks.

Nolan stands by the boards and tries to breathe. This is the second time this week AV has bag skated him and that fucking sucks too. Today is only Monday -- he's sure it's going to get worse from here on out. Until the team can pull their heads out of their asses. He shifts to lean more against the boards and his gaze drifts across the ice to where he can hear Travis talking to some of the guys.

Kevin skates up next to him. "Trouble in paradise?" He asks in his stupid accent, with his stupid face.

It catches Nolan off guard, not realizing he's scowling. He schools his face better and mutters, "What the fuck, Hayesy. Yeah, you showed up. Go away."

"I practice here too," Kevin replies, sticking his nose up in the air. "I was here first."

"That doesn't even make sense."

"It happens. You think I know what words I'm saying half the time?" Kevin picks up a puck with his stick and starts messing with it. He's quiet for a few beats. "I'm serious, though. You and TK good? You've been glaring at him for like the last ten minutes."

"He's not the one I'm-- no. Fuck off, we're fine."

"Oh," Kevin says and slowly grins. " _Oh_. Okay. Jealousy isn't a good look, buddy." That's something Nolan isn't going to dignify with a response so the silence stretches between them until Kevin relents, shaking his head, amused. "God, you are such a grump. A little disgruntled baby kitten."

"I'm leaving you," Nolan tells him. "Consider yourself good and left." Kevin cackles and lobs the puck at Nolan's leg where it hits his thigh with a light sting. He reaches out with his stick to slide another puck closer, his intent obvious as fuck, and Nolan gives him his best bitch-face. 

"What was that about leaving me, Patty?"

"Don't you dare--" Nolan threatens and he starts skating backwards so he can keep his eyes on Kevin.

"I need you! With your sunny smile and beautiful red cheeks." With a grin Kevin loads the next puck on his stick and snaps it before Nolan has a chance to react. It hits his calf with a sharp pain. Dude's got a fucking wicked shot.

" _Motherfucker_ ," Nolan curses and charges him.

They tussle around, gaining a few wolf whistles from the boys. Kevin manages to get Nolan's helmet off and a hand in his hair, messing it up so much that it's probably not salvagable at this point without a fucking comb. They break apart and Nolan tosses his hair back from his face, trying to smooth out the pieces that stick out more. Kevin hands him his helmet with a smile, a peace offering.

"It sucked without you last year," Kevin says.

Nolan can't meet his gaze with those words hanging in the air -- his lost year still feels too raw to bring up, still too close to home, and if he's not careful he could jinx all his progress and be right back in the same boat. So he pulls on his helmet, scanning the guys out on the ice instead and catches Gilly's gaze on him. The look is far from friendly.

"Have you noticed Gilly acting weird around me?" Nolan asks instead, dragging his gaze away to look at Kevin instead. He tries to make his voice as emotionless as possible, like he doesn't care about the answer.

There's a brief hesitation before Hayesy smiles his easy smile and says, "What? No, not really?" 

The words don't sit well and Nolan swallows hard. He gets this impression, suddenly, that he's a punchline to an inside joke that he hasn't been invited to. Gilly is still staring at him. Now Kevin is too and Nolan really hopes none of his thoughts are written on his face.

Then AV blows the whistle. It feels like a lifeline, even with the fact that AV still rides him hard for the rest of practice. All his limbs feel shivery afterwards and every step jostles his nausea when he walks down the tunnel. He drops heavily on the bench and curls forward, resting his head in his hands. Everything feels unsettled right now -- even his bones, like they don't fit quite right in his skin anymore. 

"Hey," Travis says and sits down next to him. He hums when Nolan only grunts at him. "That rough, eh?"

"I need a drink," Nolan finally says, under his breath. 

Travis cackles. "Cheap pisswater or expensive pisswater?"

Nolan cuts his eyes at him. "Expensive."

"Pow pow, alright pulling out the big guns. Sa-weet."

It's not often that Nolan drinks. He tries to save it for certain occasions -- social outings with the team or when he needs to get out of his head. So while he hasn't noticed any real correlation between alcohol and the migraines Nolan's still not taking too many chances. Despite months and months of treatments and searching and trials and errors Nolan still doesn't really know what triggers them. They just found a medication that seems to work well enough: there's very few breakthrough migraines, and even those are a mere fraction of the ones he got last year. It's a solution that's working so far and Nolan is cautiously optimistic. This is a part of his life now, this underlying worry, this holding his breath where he feels the familiar pressure building.

Travis pats his lap and Nolan instinctively places his foot on it. This is his life too -- TK, who's stopped drinking all the time for him. TK, who ties and unties his stupid skates a majority of the time. TK, who is always there when Nolan reaches out. Travis is the biggest part of Nolan's life and maybe he's the loudest person that Nolan knows, but somehow he's weaved his way in so quietly, so solid and strong, a steady presence--

It sets Nolan's mind spinning if he thinks about it too hard.

When they get home Travis grabs them beers. "What do you want to eat?" He asks and pauses as he watches Nolan chug his beer. " _Ohhh_ -kay," he drawls with a chuckle. "It's gonna be this kind of night." Travis passes his beer to Nolan and grabs another for himself.

They end up ordering Chinese and Nolan only picks at his order. He should eat something; he's drinking on an empty stomach and he's not accustomed to drinking. It's not ideal, but Nolan doesn't do anything to change it.

"I'll hold your hair when you puke," Travis says and that's all he says about that.

Nolan's thoughts veer dangerously -- tonight he can't seem to stop his mind from going to the darker parts, his mood souring. And the alcohol isn't helping to dull the thoughts like he had hoped. If anything, it's making them worse.

He thinks about his time in Philly. How everyone is love and hate with him and how he's slowly running out of chances to be the draft pick they expected him to be. The expansion draft is looming on the horizon and Nolan wonders if he's going to be protected. Because maybe if he loses this season then that's it, he's fucked. There's going to be no more second chances.

The thought of having to leave Travis brings an ache to his chest. It only gets worse while they sit there in front of the TV with the Xbox, the empties lined up on the coffee table, and Travis kicking his ass over and over.

"Pat," Travis finally says, exasperated. "We can do something else, you know."

"I don't think I'm gonna be protected."

It's not what he wanted to say. He hadn't wanted to voice this thought at all, but his filter slips when Travis is around -- and when he's drinking. The words hang awkwardly in the air and he hears Travis' thumbs clatter at the joysticks in surprise. Travis pauses the game and Nolan itches to unpause. This isn't a conversation he wants to have without distractions. 

Travis shifts to face him, giving him a thoughtful look. "But what if you are and I'm not."

"That seems very unlikely," Nolan's voice sounds too clipped even to his own ears. He already aches with the impending loss of this team, this city, this-- _Travis_. "I'm injury-prone. I'm already expendable."

"What? No, Pat--"

"I'm a goddamn bust, TK. I can't stay healthy. I'm fucking broken all the time." He blinks against the sting in his eyes, at being so goddamn vulnerable and it's so embarrassing.

" _No_ ," Travis all but snarls at him and snaps Nolan back to the present. "I don't want to hear that shit from you. No talking down on yourself. We're a different team with you in the lineup. We're so much better with you." Nolan opens his mouth to spout some more bullshit, probably, but Travis cuts him off, "And don't you fucking dare argue with me, because I know, Pat. I fucking know. I played an entire fucking season without you and I saw the gaping hole you left so do not fucking dare argue with me, bud." His voice is tight and tense, escalating until he's near shouting. 

Nolan tries to breathe, tries to remain calm and grounded and just listen to Travis' words. "It's not my fault," he says in a small voice. Thinks about the year he lost.

"No, it's not," Travis replies and his voice is steadier. "You're managing your symptoms, you're playing. We're ecstatic to have you back, Patty. You have no idea how good it is to have you in the lineup again."

"It's not-- it's not enough. I'm not producing--"

"That's not your fault," Travis says firmly. "You're playing well. I watch you dangle the fuck around some of those guys out there like you never missed a step, it's so sick, and it makes me hard how fucking good you are. And, and sometimes I just wanna kiss you right there on the ice because you're so fucking-- you."

Nolan rolls his eyes, but he feels the tension in his shoulders loosen. "You deserve being hard in your cup."

"Take a compliment," Travis says, amused. "C'mon, it's not you. It's your line. That's not your fault."

Nolan snorts out a soft breath, uncomfortable, wanting the conversation to be over. There's a mixture of feelings flitting about inside him, both sad and happy and he doesn't know what to do about their jarring nature. Feelings are fucking stupid. He presses impatiently at the joysticks on his controller like it's going to make Travis unpause the game faster. Conversation over, time to play. Yet the game remains paused and Travis is quiet next to him, expectant maybe, or considering what stupid thing he's going to say next.

Nolan darts a glance over to find eyes on him. There's something in his gaze that makes anxiety start creeping up Nolan's spine and the heat rising in his cheeks, like maybe Travis is going to say something stupidly huge and mind blowing and Nolan isn't going to be able to handle it. Except Travis only smiles and scoots closer. He gently plucks the controller from Nolan's hands and places it on the coffee table.

"You're so sensitive," Travis says gently and while it's not mean Nolan feels himself instinctively bristle in response. He forces himself to relax as Travis climbs over to straddle his lap, thighs splayed wide, and Nolan lets his hands rest on Travis' thighs, fingers creeping up underneath the fabric of his shorts. "The strong, silent, and sensitive type."

It feels like slow motion when Travis leans in to kiss him. Almost like they're a part of some big produced moment to make audiences swoon, and yet. Nolan feels like he's in his own free fall, wild and out of control. His gaze hungrily roams Travis' face -- taking in the soft look in Travis' eyes, the tiny barely there freckles he gets on his nose when he's outside in the sun too long over summer break, that stupid small mouth of his that never ever stops moving-- And Nolan shudders when that mouth finally kisses him, feeling his own mouth go soft under the kiss, eager. Travis angles his head to kiss him deeper, licking into Nolan's mouth like he's starving.

The kiss notches up in intensity fairly quickly and Nolan feels his body responding, his cock starting to fill with blood. He's heady with the arousal, desire and want. So much want. It never gets tiring having Travis on his lap like this -- it's like he's made to straddle Nolan's thighs, his weight a perfect pressure. 

"I love it, you know," Travis breathes against his mouth like he can't bring himself to pull away yet. "Everything about you. I'm so so into you, Patty, you have no idea."

Nolan breathes out a shuddering sound, feeling so goddamn soft for Travis and it's overwhelming as fuck. "Trav," he says in a stilted voice, feeling awkward.

"Shh," Travis murmurs, like he knows that Nolan needs someone to catch him, to ground him. "I got you. Don't worry." 

His hand slips into Nolan's shorts to palm his cock to full hardness. Travis finally draws back from the kiss, but his hand remains on Nolan's cock. There's a bottle of lube between the couch cushions that Travis fishes out, uncapping it with a soft snick and he drizzles a generous amount into Nolan's shorts where his hand is.

"Don't get lube on the couch," Nolan says faintly, distracted.

"It'll come out." But then Nolan forgets to care while Travis strokes him, his grip firm and tight, and Nolan fucks up into his fist with a pleased sigh. But the contact isn't long enough and Nolan makes an embarrassing whimpering sound when Travis draws his hand out. "You can't come yet, babe. Not until you're inside me." 

Oh fuck. His cock fucking pulses at that.

It's a quick scramble to shed their clothes and Travis is back on Nolan's lap, reaching behind himself and-- Nolan makes a strangled noise when he realizes that Travis is actually fucking fingering himself, holy shit. 

"Oh bud," he says, dazed and tries to lean forward to see. His hand reaches out to feel where Travis' fingers are sinking in and his cock pulses again, eager to sink into the clench of Travis' body.

Travis breathes out harshly and yanks Nolan's hand away. "Stop," he says with a giggle bubbling up suddenly. "You can watch me do it later."

It's not long enough to stretch himself out properly before he's shifting to line up. "Hey--" Nolan starts, but Travis says, "I'm good," and inches himself down on Nolan's cock. It's difficult to resist the urge to thrust up into Travis' body, but he forces himself to grip Travis' hips instead and try to help pace him -- they're both so eager and keyed up, but Nolan's fucked him enough to know that he needs a chance to adjust to Nolan's thickness.

"Fuck," Travis curses, his voice strained, when Nolan finally bottoms out. "God, I love your cock. It feels so fucking good, I swear to god. Fuck." He leans forward to smush his face into Nolan's shoulder and pants softly. It's probably not enough time before he's rolling his hips down, his ass gripping Nolan's cock so tight, so sweet, but Nolan's losing willpower and fast.

The sun's mostly set and the only light in the room is from the paused game screen on the television, illuminating Travis from behind. Travis has his back arched, his head tilted back and Nolan swallows hard as he looks over the line of his body as he rides Nolan's cock. The moment is more intimate than the situation calls for and Nolan struggles to breathe past the wave of desire and lust and need.

Then Travis whines suddenly, his grip tightening enough on Nolan's shoulders that he's sure to have bruises later on, and Nolan feels his rhythm starting to falter. So Nolan shifts to plant his feet more on the floor and thrusts up to meet the cradle of Travis' hips.

"Yeah," Travis says, his voice high and tight. He's close. "Yeah, that's it, Patty. Right there."

Nolan reaches his hand over to fist Travis' cock, squeezing it before stroking him in time with his thrusts.

"C'mon Pat, Nols. Baby, come in me, I wanna feel it," Travis grits out and suddenly yanks Nolan's hand from his cock. He fists at the base tightly, his body high strung and trembling, and through Nolan's arousal he realizes Travis is trying not to come.

It hits him like a punch to the gut -- Travis clenched around his cock, so goddamn tight and perfect and fucking beautiful -- and, "Travis," he chokes out, his brain just fizzing into blessed nothing except _TravisTravisTravis_ when his orgasm crashes over him.

"Oh fuck, oh fuck, oh fuck--" Travis is saying and Nolan's only vaguely aware that he's stripping his cock, fast and hard, and then Travis' body goes impossible tight around Nolan's already sensitive cock.

The only sound left in the room is their heavy breathing. Travis is pressed up against Nolan's chest, face tucked against his neck. His come is sticky and disgusting between them, but he's not moving an inch, still on Nolan's softening cock and Nolan isn't in any rush to make him move, either.

At least, until he's pretty sure that Travis is just sleeping on him. Nolan doesn't really want to stick together, and Travis' ass will probably be grateful if he moves off Nolan's cock sooner than later.

"Come on, Trav," he says softly.

Travis mumbles something unintelligible into Nolan's neck. He sounds half-asleep. Nolan can't quite keep the fond smile off his face and he pinches Travis' ass. "Motherfucker," Travis says more clearly this time, jumping at the sharp sting. "You fucking suck." But when he draws back to see Nolan smiling his face does something soft and sappy in response. 

Nolan clears his throat.

" _Bossy_ ," Travis says but he eases himself off Nolan's cock with a wince. 

Nolan takes a moment to grab a rag to clean the both of them up. He climbs onto the couch behind Travis and spoons up behind him, grabbing the throw blanket. After he clicks off the TV to let the darkness settle over them Travis' hand finds his and he laces their fingers together.

It's considerably brighter in the room when Nolan wakes. It has to be morning, or pretty close, and Nolan just instantly wants to go back to sleep. He feels like hell. It's been a long time since he's drank anything more than a single beer and now his tolerance sucks and he just wants to fucking die. It takes him a few moments to actually work through his thoughts and realize his headache isn't a migraine -- Nolan had never thought he'd actually be happy to have a hangover headache in his life, but well, here he fucking is.

Nolan groans softly and buries his face.

"You feel like ass too, eh?" Travis says. The words rumble through Travis' chest and it takes Nolan a moment longer to realize he's using him as a pillow. At some point in the night Travis had shifted onto his back and Nolan's now an octopus, all limbs, tangled up and clinging. Nolan squints at him, sighs. "It's been awhile since you've been hungover."

"I'm not hungover," Nolan mutters. His mouth is dry and he feels vaguely nauseous. He's most definitely hungover.

Travis pets his hair and there's a guarded look on his face. "Let me up," he says before Nolan can ask. "I'll get the Tylenol." So Nolan shifts off him, tucking himself against the couch, trying to be as small as possible.

Travis returns with the Tylenol and water. He pushes aside the trash on the coffee table before he gingerly sits down. Nolan knows his careful movements aren't all because of the hangover -- and it gets to him every single time, this warm possessive feeling blooming in his chest at how Travis can still feel him even hours later.

"So I thinking about steaks for dinner, all raw and bloody and juicy--"

"Okay," Nolan cuts in, his voice tight. "Go fuck yourself, I'm hungover."

There's a low chuckle from Travis. "Yeah. Me too, though. Can we order pancakes and go back to bed?"

" _Yes_." Nolan pauses. "It's an off day?"

Travis gives him an amused look. "Yeah, bud. Think I'm gonna let you dick me that good before a practice or a game?"

Nolan gives him a skeptical look. "Yeah."

Travis smiles sheepishly. "Yeah, okay, probably." He reaches for his phone and starts messing around on it. Nolan rests his cheek on the cushion and quietly watches him. "Done, ordered," he says. Nolan keeps waiting for Travis to look at him, but he keeps his gaze firmly on his phone like it's the most interesting thing in the world. Nolan rolls his eyes and reaches out to squeeze Travis' knee. 

"Hey," Nolan says. Travis finally looks at him. "What's up?"

He watches a couple of emotions flit across Travis' face -- nothing that Nolan can really read or comprehend -- before Travis speaks, "Don't get weird, but-- like, are you okay, Pat? This isn't triggering a migraine or anything?"

Nolan rolls his eyes, an instinctive gesture because even just the word migraine has him defensive, and this is probably exactly what Travis means when he says don't get weird. Right. So Nolan tries to soften his face and he gives Travis' knee another squeeze. "I'm okay," he says. "I really don't think the triggers are tied to drinking. I just--" Nolan shrugs a shoulder, unsure how to explain it.

"Don't want to mess up the mojo," Travis finishes for him. "I know, babe." It always takes Nolan off guard how well Travis understands him and it really shouldn't -- time and time again Travis has proven this. The whole reason they're here today is because of Travis. 

Nolan swallows hard and meets Travis' gaze. There's a stupidly soft look on Travis' face and Nolan's pretty sure that his own face isn't looking much better. He hooks his hand around Travis' calf and gently tugs, urging him closer. Travis slips down to kneel in front of the couch and Nolan closes the space between them and kisses him.

"Your breath is disgusting," Nolan mutters when he pulls away.

Travis buries a fit of giggles against Nolan's chest.

-

"Don't forget this is just one victory in the battle, boys," AV reminds them as he wraps up practice for the day. "Don't lose focus. Sharks are Friday and we're gonna need everyone to show up if we're gonna blow 'em out of the water." There's a few snickers in the group. "Alright? Have a good day, boys. See you tomorrow."

The rest of practice is the optional type, stay or go, free choice. A few guys leave, a few guys stay for the reps, and the rest just hang around and shoot the shit.

Nolan moves to stand next to Travis. "You good with hanging around for awhile?"

"I guess I can make some time in my busy sched to watch you shoot some pucks. And by watch you I mean stare at your ass." Travis waggles his eyebrows with hints of a leer on his face. Fucking ridiculous -- Nolan doesn't know why he's so fond of this trainwreck. 

"Idiot." But Nolan's biting back a smile as he skates away to claim a pile of scattered pucks. He scoops one up on his stick and flips it before shooting. It feels good to mindlessly shoot pucks, doing something with his muscle memory where he doesn't have to think so hard -- thinking: that's been the bane of his existence lately.

Travis and Kevin are sitting off to the side, leaning against the boards with their legs splayed out in front of them. Parts of their conversation drift towards Nolan, bits and pieces, and Nolan lets the jumble of words wash over him. These are the moments that Nolan had missed the most: the feel of the ice under his skates, the satisfying weight of a puck on his stick, familiar voices, Travis within speaking distance, and just, hockey. Nolan doesn't know what he's going to do when he can't have this anymore. Best not to think about that, though -- best not to think about anything: too many stupid intangibles floating around for his liking.

"Hey Pat," Beezy says, skating up next to him. Nolan only half-pays attention to him, humming a low sound. "Can we talk?"

"Later," Nolan replies without thinking. Hell no. The next puck pings uselessly off the crossbar. He cuts his eyes Beezy and sees his furrowed brow and kicked puppy expression. Why are all of Nolan's friends such fucking morons? And why does Nolan fall for it every single time? He sighs. "What?"

Beezy blinks and glances around. "Not here? Maybe, like, lunch?" 

Beezy has never once asked him to lunch. Sometimes they hang out after practice, or on a day off, but it's always a group of them. It's never just with Nolan one on one, so he already feels off-kilter. His first instinct is to say no, but he finds himself saying, "Yeah, okay. Give me a sec."

So he grabs lunch with Beezy. And maybe it's not exactly awkward, but it's strange because there's no one to fill the longer silences. There's obviously something on Beezy's mind and he fiddles with his straw wrapper more than he actually eats.

Eventually Nolan gets fed up. "Spit it out," he mumbles. 

Beezy looks up, startled. Deer in fucking headlights -- dumb jock bro written all over his face, complete with crooked hat and hair sticking every which way. It'd be comical if Nolan hadn't been sitting here and dreading whatever the hell he wants to talk about. "I, uh-- You and TK," he starts. "Are you guys really um. A thing?"

It's the last thing that Nolan expects to hear, probably the worst fucking outcome here, and Nolan feels a small surge of fucking fear cutting through his insides like they're made of jello. A nervous laugh bubbles up, but he stamps it down, wondering why the hell Beezy had to pick this moment here to bring that up. In the middle of this too-expensive cafe, surrounded by people with too much money to know what to do with. His silence must last too long because Beezy shoots him an alarmed look.

"I'm not--" Beezy pushes through. "It's okay, you know? If uh, so. I'm not-- like that. I have questions?"

Nolan's knee bounces under the table. He can't make eye contact with Beezy now and his face feels hot. Under the table he fishes out his phone and shoots off a quick text before slipping it back in his pocket. 

There's nothing about his words that throw any warning flags, though. The confrontation with Gilly flashes through his mind, suddenly, and his brief look of utter fucking repulsion even though he hadn't known. Nolan knows that he and TK are transparent, that isn't news to him, but he also knows you have to spend longer than a _hello I'm so-and-so_ to pick up on it. Even then, judging by the hesitation, Beezy doesn't know for sure, either.

But. Beezy's pretty fucking dumb, too. So there's that.

Nolan takes in a slow breath and somehow his voice stays even, "What questions." 

"I guess I was wondering. How did-- how did you know he was into you? That it wasn't, you know. Just bros."

Now that Nolan isn't on the verge of throwing up his lunch and that he can actually breathe, well. He's not actually going to be able to give much advice either way, let's be realistic. But he notes the uncomfortable look on Beezy's face and everything suddenly clicks. Nolan squints at him. "Are you coming out to me, bud?"

Beezy coughs but reluctantly nods. "I think so?"

"And you thought, out of me and TK, that I was the better option to go to?"

"I didn't really think," Beezy admits with a crooked smile.

"Clearly." Nolan looks at Beezy for a moment before he looks away and lets out a soft breath. His nerves flare again, while every instinct is screaming _run, fucking run_ , and it's not like Nolan really even gives a shit if people know about him and TK -- he doesn't care, not really, except maybe about the possible negative fall out, but. Even that's not enough to get him to back down or to be more careful about the way they flirt in public. So, sure, there's some conflicting feelings inside Nolan, but for the most part he's just gonna live his life and fuck the haters.

It's the talking about it part that gives him fits. Nolan fucking hates talking.

"Teeks and I," Nolan starts, trying to will away the flush in his cheeks, "yeah, we're dating." The words feel like gravel on his tongue. Then, because he can't handle those words left in the air, all vulnerable and shit, he adds, "And no, he didn't fucking try to propose with fucking fishing net, you giant doofus."

Beezy looks confused before he laughs. "Oh, shit. I forgot about that. How did that, uh, even come up?"

Nolan sighs and then says flatly, "We're the token married couple, didn't you know."

"Oh yeah." Beezer winces. "That bother you? I know G always makes that stupid joke."

"It's whatever," Nolan says with a shrug. His phone buzzes in his pocket and he fishes it out to read the text. That's quicker than he had expected. He looks back up. "I gotta go. Thanks for lunch."

"Thanks for uh, letting me be awkward on you, bro." He shoots Nolan a self-deprecating grin and holds out his fist to bump.

Nolan grabs the bag of carryout, but he pauses and fiddles with the handles. "Just--" He glances at Beezy and then away. "Talking, you know. Having those hard conversations. I can't take much credit for anything because Trav did the heavy lifting. If you need someone to cry on, well. Trav's your man." Nolan claps Beezy on the shoulder before he walks (and carefully does not run) out of the cafe.

"Oh my god, that was the worst hour of my fucking life," Nolan says when he climbs in the car. He hits his head back against the headrest while Travis gives him a bemused look. "Please get me the fuck out of here."

Back at the apartment Travis says, "So I guess lunch with your new boyfriend went poorly?"

Nolan gives him a flat look and he's very tempted to throw the carryout bag at Travis' face, wasteful or not. In the end he drops it in Travis' lap and walks into the kitchen. 

"Bring me a fork!" Travis calls out as Nolan's already reaching into the cutlery drawer. He grabs a bottle of water and returns to the living room, sitting down next to him on the couch. When he passes the fork he doesn't let go right away and Travis uselessly tugs at it. 

"Don't be jealous, bud," Nolan says.

Travis huffs at him. "I'm not, be quiet. He is so not your type." Nolan lets go of the fork so Travis can attack his food.

"What is my type, Trav?"

"Me." He waggles his eyebrows. Nolan only rolls his eyes and doesn't answer, so Travis continues, his mouth only half-full of food, "So what did the Young Beez want, anyway?"

Nolan's face gets pinched -- it was awkward enough to sit through the conversation, and now he has to repeat it? His life is a tragedy. Travis shoots him an amused look. "He wanted to talk," Nolan finally mumbles.

"Pimping his new album?" Travis asks and Nolan shakes his head. "Girl trouble?" Another shake of the head. "Boy trouble?" Nolan knows that Travis tossed the question out there to be cheeky, but well. He's not wrong, now is he? Travis is distracted with his lunch, some sushi bowl with grains that Nolan picked out, and he has to feed some to Nolan, so it takes him awhile to realize that Nolan isn't saying or doing anything. His eyes grow wide. "Wait, what? No shit?"

"No shit," Nolan agrees. "Beez came out to me."

"Wow," Travis says and he's now staring at Nolan, his food forgotten. There's a look on his face that Nolan can't quite put his finger on, that makes him uncomfortable but not in that good way. Travis looks like he wants to say more, but doesn't.

"He has feelings," Nolan offers and then immediately feels ridiculous, his cheeks flushing.

"Don't we all, bud?" Travis snorts. 

Something is off, suddenly, and Nolan isn't smart enough nor does he have the proper emotional capacity to realize what exactly it is. The silence spreads between them, something viscous and all-encompassing, and it doesn't sit well with Nolan. He wants Travis to fill the space with his words, but for once he doesn't, he just pushes his food around. 

So Nolan takes a deep breath and picks the first thing that comes to mind, even if it's that deeply uncomfortable lunch session that he'd rather pretend never happened. "Fucker nearly gave me a heart attack, asking if we're a thing, like dude. Pace yourself." He smiles wryly because Travis is watching him; he's quiet, but he's paying attention. "I'm trying not to lose my shit -- you probably would have laughed your ass off at me -- and I think he realizes it. And he's fumbling over himself and just-- I realized what's going on."

"What's going on?"

"That he's fucking coming out to me. I'm thinking," Nolan continues in a mumble that Travis has to strain to hear. His face is getting more and more hot, but he pushes onwards, "I'm the last person he should be coming out to. I'm fucking awful at this shit."

Travis quirks his lips. "You are pretty bad," he agrees.

Nolan bites his lip. "So I told him that it's important to talk about all the important hard stupid shit. At least that's what you told me and it seems to work, I guess." He takes in a slow breath and then shrugs, at a loss.

"You told him about us?" Travis is staring at him. His look isn't uncomfortable anymore, though -- it's a searching look and whatever heaviness from before seems to be dissipating. 

Nor does Nolan have the itch to ramble anymore and just says, "Yeah."

"Shit, bud." Travis slowly smiles and tangles their fingers together, his palm warm against Nolan's. "My boy's growing up."

"Oh my god," Nolan rushes out, his voice flat, but his face is flaming. Fucking Travis. "Do not even--"

"You're becoming emotionally available, Patty! This is such a big step for you. I'm so proud of you. My big strong man being all emotional--"

"I'm breaking up with you," Nolan threatens. "I don't care how good the sex is."

" _Lies_. The sex is _fantastic_." He stabs the fork in Nolan's direction. "Best sex you've ever had. You told me so that one night." It's bad that Nolan knows exactly what night Travis is referring to. 

"Fuck you," Nolan says. "You can't hold that against me."

"I can and I will."

"You got lucky you were around when they cleared me to play. I could have fucked a chick and liked it. Just saying."

" _Just sayin'_ , eh? I distinctly remember doing the fucking that day, Nols, baby." Travis smirks at him like he knows the truth -- which yeah, he might. "It's okay, you can admit it. You love when I top the hell outta you."

Nolan feels his cock twitch and he facepalms. "You're the worst."

Travis doesn't push the topic any further, just shoots Nolan a wink before he focuses his attention back to his lunch. A few more bites before he finally sits it aside. "I can't believe he picked you to talk to," Travis says around a mouthful and Nolan watches as he arranges himself until he's stretched out across the couch. He beckons Nolan closer with his finger.

"I told him that," Nolan says and eyes him. "He said he didn't think. Which, fucking duh. He's an idiot."

"Word." Travis cackles and impatiently gestures again. "Come fucking here, bitch. I want to cuddle." 

Nolan holds out for a few seconds longer before he sighs. He moves to gingerly crawl closer, careful not to bump any sensitive bits. There's not a lot of room so Nolan ends up mostly stretched out over Travis' front. He rests his head on Travis' chest -- he can hear the rhythmic thump of his heartbeat. Nolan closes his eyes.

"Patty," Travis says after a moment's silence and Nolan hums. "You told someone about us. You actually told someone."

"I told my family," Nolan mumbles. "You know that."

"But you're close to them. You trust them. You're not exactly that close to Beez, you know?"

Nolan furrows his brows as he considers that. "It doesn't bother me that people know. The thing that keeps me from telling everyone is the media fallout. I don't want to deal with that shit, I'm already sick of them. I don't want to explain who I fuck and date and why it's their business."

There's no answer from Travis and that's alarming enough that Nolan lifts his head. The look on Travis' face, well. It makes Nolan want to squirm, because he looks so happy and it's all directed right at Nolan, every ounce shining right at him. 

"Stop looking at me like that," Nolan tries to threaten, but his voice has a small waver.

"Nolan," Travis whispers -- his voice is so soft but it sounds so loud in the silence of the room. Nolan isn't sure if he wants to hear what comes next, it's never fucking good when Travis uses his real name like this, so he slides up to kiss Travis instead. Hands lift to cup Nolan's cheeks and keep his head there, as if Nolan had any ideas of pulling away anytime soon.

"Idiot," Nolan mumbles against his mouth and smiles when he feels Travis smile.


	2. Chapter 2

Then everything seems to change.

The Seattle Kraken are set to debut in the 2022-23 season. Waves of goddamn change are a'coming. This is an event that's looming in the minds of everyone, hovering right there in the horizon, impossible to ignore. It becomes a weapon that coaches throw around, an unspoken taunt -- _look, there's only so many we can protect and if you don't perform…_

It's also a catch-22. If you perform well and don't happen to be protected, well. You know how that story goes. Bend over and spread 'em, boys.

Some teams are handling it better than others. Some teams are hanging on by the skin of their teeth. They clutch their sticks tighter and their seasons aren't going as planned. Like the Flyers, where their coach is already on the hot seat. A rain cloud is blanketing the team -- and it's not the bleak cloud cover outside that's always hovering during the month of November -- no, this one is indoors, and incessant, following their every move. They're barely breaking even in the standings and time keeps marching forward.

The last three games have been losses. There's not much positivity to find for moving forward. Frustration is growing. Fans are booing them -- the city, cold and unforgiving, expecting and wanting the best. 

"Can't hack it, huh?" Gilly asks him every single time Nolan's dropped back down to center his line.

Nolan's been tossed around the lines more times than he can count. And the more that Nolan's away on the first line the more distant Beezy seems to become towards him. "Beez, what the fuck," Nolan says to his back and gets radio silence. At this point Beezy has been actively avoiding him for over a week now. It stings like fuck, honestly -- especially when Beezy turns around and goes right up to Travis, all buddy-buddy as hell. 

So it can't be the gay and dating TK thing. It's just the Nolan thing, for whatever reason.

"Christ," he mutters to himself, wondering what the fuck he's supposed to do now. He thinks about asking Kevin if he's heard anything, but he remembers his last attempt to talk about Gilly and how Kevin flat out lied to him. Nolan is not keen on recreating that. Plus, even Kevin is acting distant sometimes.

Nolan's caught up in his thoughts that he isn't completely paying attention to his surroundings and the next thing he knows he's being checked hard against the boards. "What the fuck," he bites out as he stumbles. Practice is over, there's no reason for that shit. 

"You're so clumsy, Patty," Gilly says in a sing-song voice as he pins Nolan to the boards. Of course it's Gilly -- of fucking course, who else would it be? No one else pays him any attention, except Travis, and he's not this rough. "It's a good thing I'm here to keep you from falling."

"Let me go," Nolan says, his voice flat. He shoves at Gilly's shoulder, pushing him back and away, but Gilly quickly closes the gap between them again. There's an expression on his face that makes Nolan's stomach flip with anxiety -- he looks smug, like he knows something that Nolan doesn't.

"What if I don't want to let you go? You like this, right?" Gilly is too close, way too fucking close that Nolan can smell his breath, a sickly sweet smell with a hint of Gatorade. "You like being pinned? Does Konecny pin you down? Make you squeal like the bitch you are?"

Nolan sees red. There's a limit of shit he's going to take from Gilly -- admittedly, Nolan's reached that limit months ago, but he's never involved Travis in his shit talk so it's always been easier to let it slide. But this? Fuck no. His stick ends up discarded somewhere on the ice and Nolan flips their positions, shoving Gilly roughly back against the boards. Shoving once, twice, three times. He hears the sound of Gilly's helmet hitting the glass and while it's not hard enough to do any damage it's still satisfying. Something dangerous is coursing through his veins, something almost lethal. He knows it reads on his face, his cheeks flushed and his eyes pissed. Gilly's facade falters, briefly.

There's a voice behind them, "What the hell is going on here?" It takes Nolan a moment to realize that it's G's voice. "Pat?" Nolan doesn't need to look at him to know he looks pissed. Join the fucking club, cap.

"Patty almost tripped and I guess we both stumbled-- into the boards. Man, I don't know, but I flailed and he flailed--" Always trying to find the advantage to make himself look good.

Nolan takes the chance to slip away, disappearing down the tunnel as fast as he can. The locker room is mostly cleared out by now. Travis is sitting at his stall without his shoes on and he's talking to Beezy. They both pause to stare at him. It takes every ounce of restraint that Nolan possesses not to lash out at them both. He stews and strips down his practice gear.

"You good, babe?" Travis asks.

Nolan's eyes dart to Travis and then looks past him at Beezy, who has his eyes averted, fiddling with his phone. "Be careful," Nolan says with an edge to his voice. "There's a bunch of homophobes around. Wouldn't want them overhearing you, Konecny." It feels good to see Beezy flinch at his phone.

"Oh for fuck's sake," Travis mutters and rolls his eyes. "I've called you worse in front of more people. Do I look like I'm fucking afraid, _Patrick_?"

Nolan ignores him and he can hear when the other two walk in the room, their voices bantering back and forth like everything's all good and dandy. Like nothing had happened. It's fucking infuriating.

"Nolan. Why is G giving you the deathly look of deadly death? What the fuck is going on?"

And Nolan spins around to find that G is indeed giving him a look, as though this is all Nolan's fault. As though Nolan has been the one harassing Gilly for months. His insides feel suddenly blanketed in cold water, his rage disappearing and leaving a hollow feeling in its place. Gilly looks so pleased as though everything is going to plan -- and if the plan is to alienate everyone against Nolan, well, it's going perfectly, isn't it?

Nolan is following the script to a T.

Travis grabs his arm, still fucking talking, is saying, "Patty, hey, what the fuck," and Nolan yanks his arm away.

"Leave me alone," he says flatly and goes to shower.

Nolan stands under the spray, his head bowed. He stares at the water dripping from his hair and just tries to breathe. It takes a long time to catch his breath, where his heart isn't in his throat and his hands aren't trembling anymore.

When he returns to the locker room it's empty. Travis isn't sitting at his stall with his knee bouncing impatiently, his damp hair tucked back in his snapback and eyes locked on his phone, waiting to share something stupid with Nolan. G is nowhere to be found, either, and Nolan had expected him to be waiting with that disappointed look, wanting to hear what the fuck happened this time. But no, Nolan's the lone Flyer.

Nolan squints at the smudge in his vision and sighs quietly. 

He feels robotic as he gathers his things and shoulders his bag, taking the long walk of shame out of the rink. It's a bit of a blur after that, as he manages to get an Uber back to the apartment and lets himself inside. But somehow he manages to get from point A to point B -- leaving a small trail of destruction in his wake -- and by the time he's barricaded himself in what he's not-so-fondly dubbed _the migraine room_ his head feels like it's splitting open.

It's probably poetic justice. It's probably exactly what he deserves. There's almost no doubt that he's getting shipped off to Seattle now -- that, or flat out designated. It's clear he's not able to stay healthy, and who's going to want someone with a broken head? Everything feels like it's spinning out of control and there's nothing that Nolan can do to stop it. Nolan squeezes his eyes shut, feeling tears seep out, and tells himself that it's the pain that's got him so fucked up.

The first thing that Nolan notices when he wakes is that someone's tucked up behind him -- it's Travis, of course; it's always Travis. Nolan gets a faint whiff of his cologne and the second thing that he notices is that it doesn't bother him like it used to. Last year, when even a faint smell could trigger a migraine, Travis had stopped wearing his cologne so he could remain close when Nolan needed him. Third thing Nolan notices is that his migraine has broken. He's fuzzy with the aftershocks, but those will clear with time.

When Nolan lets out a soft breath Travis' arm tightens slightly around his middle and he asks softly, "Awake? How do you feel?"

"Better," Nolan whispers. "It's gone."

"Good, then I won't feel bad for doing this." Travis pinches the tender skin on his stomach with a vicious twist of his fingers and Nolan jerks, but smartly keeps his mouth shut. That's gonna leave a mark. Travis goes on to stroke softly over the bruised skin. "So, fuck you. You're a dick."

"Yeah, uh. Sorry." It sounds weak.

"Apology accepted. We're still talking about this later, bud, but I'm starved. You up for pizza? I didn't realize you had a migraine or I would have brought something else home."

Nolan's stomach gives a pathetic attempt at a growl. It's been awhile since he ate. "Pizza's good."

The pizza sits forgotten on the counter, in TK's attempt to make peace, and Nolan sees the trail he had left earlier in his haste to find his medication and get to bed. It's a large neon sign pointing towards the bedroom, basically. His eyes dart to the clock and sees that he's been down roughly two hours. That's tame compared to the ones he was getting last year.

They sit on the couch, close enough that their elbows brush every now and then, with a plate of pizza on their laps. The TV's on as background noise.

"So, I want to say that you deserve being left behind and I'm not going to apologize for that, but I am sorry that I left you when you had a migraine," Travis starts and waits until Nolan obediently bobs his head before he continues, "Now that's cleared up, I just want to know what the fuck happened. Did something happen with G?"

"No," Nolan mumbles down at his empty plate.

"Really? 'Cause he looked at you like you tried to throw Gavin in the dumpster, bud. All _I'm gonna daddy-hulk out and break your body in half_ kind of stuff, you know?"

Nolan's eyebrows knit together and he shoots a small unimpressed look at Travis. "What the fuck, TK."

Travis holds his hands up. "I'm just saying. That's what it looked like."

"It wasn't fucking G," Nolan mutters. "Gilly probably set it up so G walked in and saw me being the bad guy."

"Gilly set you up. Now why doesn't that doesn't surprise me." Travis rubs a hand over his face.

"He made a crack about you making me your bitch." The words slip out and Nolan immediately wishes he can take them back when he feels Travis tense next to him. He's been trying to keep Travis out of this as much as possible -- getting Travis directly involved will mess up the shaky truce that Nolan has with Gilly: the one where Nolan ignores him and Gilly usually gets bored and finds someone better to annoy. Granted, that truce is starting to backfire because Gilly is pushing him more and more. It's just-- Nolan knows if Travis gets involved then things are going to get messy. Travis isn't afraid to get his hands dirty and he sure as hell isn't going to back down.

Whatever delicate balance the locker room has will surely be shattered.

He watches Travis' lips thin into a white line. "You are not _my bitch_ ," Travis spits out. "You're my equal fucking partner here and fuck anyone that says differently." Then he's up on his feet and pacing back and forth in the living room. His hands clench and unclench at his sides, probably about two seconds from hunting down Gilly and skinning him alive. As much as Nolan would love to see that, well, he'd love to see Travis continue playing hockey a lot more. Nolan's on his feet and he grabs Travis' wrist.

"Hey," Nolan says and tugs Travis towards him. Travis looks at him with barely restrained anger, his face blank and his eyes so dark. "His words mean shit to me, you gotta know that, Trav. I don't listen to him. You're, ah," Nolan hesitates, the words thick and awkward on his tongue before he forces them out, "you're a good boyfriend, okay?"

Travis blinks at him before the corner of his mouth creeps up in a smile. "How painful was that to say?"

"Very," Nolan deadpans.

Travis loops his arms around Nolan's neck, looking up at him. Nolan's hands curl over Travis' hips.

"You're a good boyfriend too," Travis says in that stupid sappy voice of his, "The best. I know you think you aren't and I know it's painful for you to even admit that you think I'm the fuckin' bomb--"

"Jesus fuck, Teeks," Nolan bites out, trying not to smile. "Shut the fuck up."

Travis smirks at him, a smug look on his face, and then he's on his tiptoes to kiss Nolan. It's a slow and thorough kiss, with no heat behind it, and it settles Nolan right down to his bones. 

They drift back to the couch, where Nolan spoons up behind Travis and keeps him securely tucked back against his chest. His fingers toy with the waistband of Travis' shorts. Humming, Travis shimmies back against him as he gets comfortable -- too much of that and Nolan won't be responsible for his actions -- and he says, "You're an excellent distraction, but I'm still going to kill him."

Nolan huffs a soft breath. "I didn't go through all this shit just so you can get yourself thrown in jail and I can't play with you again." He trails a line of lazy kisses along Travis' shoulder, pausing with his lips against the warm skin at the base of Travis' neck.

"I can't let him live, though." Travis sounds distracted, though, more focused on the moment here and now. "It's like, principles and shit-- _oh hello there_ ," he says as his hips shimmy again, right back against Nolan's lap, where his cock is starting to show interest.

"We'll see," Nolan murmurs. His hand slips down the front of Travis' shorts and into his boxers to squeeze his length, feeling it hardening in his grip. 

Travis goes boneless against him with a soft pleased sigh. "Keep doing that and I'll forgive you times a thousand, Patty. Oh fuck." His hand runs over the length of Nolan's arm, down over the hand that's tucked into his shorts, mapping out the shape of Nolan's hand curled around his cock, and then back up again. "That's so hot. Yeah."

"Too much talking," Nolan murmurs into his ear and makes Travis forget all about his plans.

Their day starts off-- not good.

There's a wreck on their normal route to the rink and Travis navigates them around that mess pretty easily, leaving them just enough time to run into their usually spot for coffee. They have minutes to spare, but Nolan at least has caffeine on board and that's worth the grief of AV's pointed look he shoots in their direction when they stumble on the ice. They're not late, though, so fuck him.

"Busy choking on cock in the closet?" Gilly sneers.

"Yeah," Nolan replies, careful to keep his face blank. "You jealous I can choke on cock better than your whore?" The furious expression that Gilly gives is a cherry on top.

They're swept up in the swing of practice and that leaves very little time for Travis to enact any revenge that he's been plotting. It's a relief, because Nolan isn't sure if he wants to deal with that right now, and he lets it slip from his memory for awhile while he focuses on the scrimmages.

There's a shout from the other end of the ice and Nolan looks to find Gilly down on the ice. He's grabbing at his left leg. Something vicious shoots through Nolan, a pleased you deserve that coursing through his thoughts. Nolan shares a look with Travis and knows he's thinking the exact same thing. When they line up again Travis lightly bumps him as he skates by, saying in his ear, "Bastard got lucky, eh?" Nolan just hunches over take the puck drop and hides his smile. 

Later the news comes that Gilly has a lower body injury and he's going to be out for a week or two according to AV. It's not Gilly lying facedown in a ditch somewhere, but it's still pretty good. Looks like today is looking up, at least.

Travis snorts an ugly sound next to him. "Bastard got so lucky," he says in a voice only Nolan can hear. When Nolan looks over at him Travis shoots him a smile with way too many teeth and sometimes Nolan is really glad that Travis is on his side. "I'm itching for a fight now. Have any scorned ex-lovers I can dance with? Tazer. When we do we play them again? Next week?"

Nolan scowls, feeling his cheeks flush. "He is not--" he mutters. "Shut up." He obediently places his skate on Travis' lap when Travis pats his thigh. "He's just a bud, Teeks. Don't be jealous."

Travis shoots him a skeptical look. Nolan flips him off.

Nolan lets his mind wander as he loses the rest of his practice gear. Something AV had said sticks in his mind -- it's just a few words that are supposed to be a team pick-me-up, tacked on at the end of his spiel, "I know you guys are giving your 100%," and they feel false. Like AV doesn't even believe those words. Time is still marching forward and the ship isn't getting righted fast enough and Nolan wonders if AV is already checking out. It's barely December. 

"Hey, did you hear?" Travis' voice cuts through his thoughts and Nolan slides his gaze at him. "G said mandatory drinks tonight. Team bonding and team boning. Yadda yadda."

"No boning," G says sharply from half-way across the room. Dude's got killer selective hearing sometimes.

"I'll bone if I want to."

"And I'll fine you and bench you if I want to, Konecny. Behave. You're supposed to set an example for the young guys."

"Good fucking luck with that," Nolan shoots back while Travis laughs next to him.

Mandatory drinks means they hog at least four tables and the whole back corner of the club. It's not the first time and the owners are familiar enough with this song and dance and know that G tips them ridiculously well so they never put up a fuss. Nolan's tucked against the wall with Travis at his side and he nurses some fruity drink Travis had shoved at him earlier. It doesn't taste bad, but Nolan doesn't plan on getting drunk, even if tomorrow is an off day.

He lets himself get washed up in the conversation that drifts around him.

Travis claps him on the thigh, hovering long enough to trace his fingers over the inside seam of Nolan's jeans a few times. "Be right back," he finally says. "Do you want another drink?"

"No, I'll pass."

Travis disappears into the mess of bodies, yelling something at Ghost about where's the drinks for them and Nolan loses him. His gaze shifts back to the table and he idly runs his finger over the lip of his glass.

"Think he's pulling tonight?" Jake asks and Nolan's first instinct is to tell him to shut the fuck up, but then he looks up and catches sight of Jake's friendly look. There's no malice in his words. "Gonna shoot his shot?"

Nolan rolls his eyes, amused. "You think he has that much game?"

"You never know. Seems like he's doing pretty well for himself, don't you?" His gaze slides over Nolan, what he can see of him, and his meaning is clear. It makes Nolan want to squirm in his seat. Jake seems to take pity on him and chuckles lowly, saying, "Gotta piss, man." He gets to his feet.

"Not gonna hold your hand," Nolan says dryly. Jake laughs as he walks away. 

Nolan takes in a slow breath. The beat of the music thuds under his skin like a second heartbeat. He feels better than he has for weeks, for months -- what a concept, remove the source of corruption and things are healthy again. It's never that easy, of course, not with contracts and money on the line. But hopefully this is the spark the team needs to find some wins again and Nolan can finally settle in his game. It's a start. Baby steps and all that. 

If Nolan never had to see Gilly again it'd still be too soon.

Since Nolan's the last one remaining at his table he takes a moment to breathe. He pushes all the thoughts about Gilly and the team as far away as possible. Tries to pretend there's no expectations dogging his every turn, and that he's just some normal guy without the weight of the world on his shoulders. There's no city glued to his every move and waiting, expecting him to fail. Tonight he's just Nolan Patrick, normal guy. He's TK's boyfriend, hanging at a swanky club with a bunch of buds because it's the weekend and that's how you pass the time.

His attention drifts to Travis, spotting him through the crowd. He's standing at the bar with Kevin and they're talking. There's something about Travis' posture that puts Nolan on edge, like maybe this isn't a conversation he wants to hear. He downs the rest of his drink and forces himself to look away, watches people move together on the dance floor.

They do end up joining him after awhile, Travis sliding him a water and placing a fresh beer in front of himself. Travis sits too close to be considered friendly, especially when there's no one else fighting for their own real estate in a too-crowded booth. Kevin sits across from them, saying, "I saw they put more Hoarders on Netflix."

Nolan focuses on the warm press of Travis' thigh against his own and lets Travis carry the conversation.

"Oh fuck, is it the first season?" Travis replies, "I still haven't seen that one yet. I think I've seen everything else." 

"You could come over," Nolan finally offers. He knows that Travis won't make the invitation unless Nolan gives the okay, won't force the issue. They used to hang out a lot more. Nolan misses it, he does, but not if it's going to become a friendship of convenience, Kevin hanging around only when Gilly isn't there to see. No fucking thanks to that shit.

Kevin gives a tentative smile. "Yeah, that'd be dope, man."

Travis' hand settles back on his thigh, warm and possessive, his fingers inching along the inside seam of Nolan's jeans. Nolan's trying to focus on where the conversation goes, something about a girl and a bar and she's a ten outta ten blah blah and-- whatever else. Nolan feels confined to his own little world, a bubble containing him and Travis and where he very much wants that hand to go next.

"Oh man," Kevin is saying, "She was staring at me like I was a piece of meat. Grade A fuckin' prime, dude. I thought she was gonna hop on right there in the parking lot."

"She had eyeballs, right? You checked?" Travis asks and his hand creeps higher up Nolan's thigh. So close but yet so far away. They're tucked in the far corner and it's dark enough to conceal, but it still gets Nolan's cock to pulse at how someone could see this, Travis' hand on him, unraveling him right here in public.

Kevin pretends to look affronted. "Hey, fuck you, man. She had both eyeballs and she could see very well, thanks so much."

"Just not seeing the Grade A prime," Travis replies with a laugh. "You look like Shaggy. So unless she has some weird fetish--"

"Who the fuck is Shaggy," Nolan mumbles. They both turn to give him a look but he stares blankly back at them, uncomprehending. To be fair, most of his blood has quickly rushed south -- Travis is giving him a small smile like he realizes this.

"Shaggy? Dude--"

"--Scooby Doo, Pats! Tell me you've seen it--"

"Oh." Nolan recognizes the show, but he lets them go off on their tangent -- mostly Kevin, really, because he seems to have feelings about the show. _I grew up with this shit_ and _it's a classic_ and Nolan really couldn't care less about some cartoon with a weird dog that talks if he remembers correctly. He only half-listens to Kevin and gives in to the impulse to rest his head on Travis' shoulder. Most of the team is mingling somewhere nearby -- Nolan can hear Ghost and Provy laughing somewhere behind him because someone's doing a horrible impression of AV and just. Nolan doesn't have any fucks to give right now. Travis gives his thigh a squeeze.

It's nice to not have to carry an end of conversation, letting Travis take the reigns. It's nice to just be.

"I mean, Shaggy and Scooby were totally potheads, anyway," Kevin adds. "It's funny 'cause everyone is all mind your Ps and Qs and kids can't watch this fucked up shit on TV, but I guess they never paid attention to the shit they watched growing up. Some of those shows, man. I'm surprised I'm as well-adjusted as I am."

"You? Well-adjusted?" 

Nolan sighs. "I'm not drunk enough for this."

"What? I'm barely tipsy here," Travis argues. "I had two beers. And half of your fruity whatdaya-call-it. Fruity passion delight sunrise. It was a pretty weak though." 

"Yeah," Nolan agrees.

The hand creeps even higher until Travis' fingers brush over his bulge and Nolan may or may not jump in surprise. He tries to play it cool while Travis stifles a laugh next to him. Kevin gives them a weird look and then focuses on Nolan, saying, "You look like you saw a ghost." He sounds almost concerned. Fuck, that will not do.

"I'm fine," Nolan says in a tight voice. "It's probably TK's disgusting excuse for a drink--"

"You drank it," Travis argues. "You can't say one bad word about something you willingly drank." Nolan can only glare at him. "Look, don't blame me that you'd totally drink sewer water if I served it to you 'cause you one hundo percent are all about the TK."

Nolan shifts his gaze to Kevin, giving him a look as to say _why do we hang out with this again_ , but Kevin's eyes narrow briefly all like _he's your boyfriend_ because Kevin has no loyalty to Nolan whatsoever, the bastard, and--

"Shut the fuck up," Nolan mutters in defeat and looks away. They both laugh at him, but Nolan can't find it in himself to be bothered at all. Not when Travis' hand is a steady pressure on the bulge in his pants and it's all Nolan can do not to grind his hips up, chasing the pleasure. Kevin's not paying them tons of attention anymore -- he's shifting his attention between them and his phone and his beer and they'd probably get away with it, but. Nolan's not keen on getting caught with his pants down in a club, not even by Kevin who's probably accidentally caught them more times than they can count on both hands.

Travis idly twirls his index finger around the lip of his glass, staring out at the dance floor.

"Oh man, looks like the golden boy's out for the season," Kevin says, squinting at his phone.

"Good riddance," Travis shoots back with a smirk. "What'd he do this time? Trip over his own two feet?"

"More or less." As Kevin recounts the events that led up to the injury, or what they suspect is the factor in his eventual disappearance from the game, Nolan tunes him out again. His gaze settles on Travis again, who seems distracted despite answering at what Nolan assumes are all the appropriate times. 

Travis looks at him and asks, "Do you want to dance?"

Nolan blinks -- Travis has long stopped asking that, mostly because Nolan's never felt comfortable dancing in public, especially not when they're in Philly, but something feels different about the way he asks the question tonight. Something feels different inside Nolan too, because he finds himself saying, "Yeah, alright bud." 

Nolan reluctantly knocks Travis' hand away and adjusts himself through his pants before he follows him out to the dance floor. Kevin wolf whistles. "Have fun, dudes."

They disappear into the mess of bodies and Travis glues his back along Nolan's front. It's a poor excuse for dancing, really. Mostly Travis is grinding his ass back against Nolan's cock through too many layers of clothing and in a public place. There's no real rhythm or attempt to follow the beat -- not that Nolan minds in the slightest. His hands just curl over Travis' hips and he holds on for the ride.

Travis shoots a coy smile at him over his shoulder, as if anything about this situation is coy. Especially Travis himself. But Nolan wants to kiss the smile off his face until his jaw is slack with pleasure all the same. 

The beat changes and Travis turns around to face him. There's still no space between their bodies -- Nolan's starting to sweat at this point and he can feel it pooling uncomfortably at the small of his back. He doesn't do anything except snatch the snapback from Travis' head, brushing back the sweaty mess of his own hair and pulling it on. Travis shoots him an amused look and shakes his hair out like a dog.

"Jesus Christ," Nolan says, a bit too fondly.

"That's my hat, you know," Travis murmurs as he reaches up to tug at a stray hair before he tucks it behind Nolan's ear.

"It's mine now."

"It does look pretty good on you."

Nolan Patrick, completely normal guy. Doing normal things like dancing with your boyfriend in a public place that's made for dancing. Nothing strange to see here, just move along, folks. It's something that's so common for everyone else, something that they get to take advantage of it, and Nolan finds himself getting lost in the rush. It's heady -- Nolan suddenly wants to ditch his plans for tonight and make new ones with Travis.

Leaning in, Nolan presses a kiss to the juncture where Travis' neck meets his shoulder, a taste of salt on his skin. He moves to ask in Travis' ear, his words soft, his voice deliberately low, "Can't we just ditch Kev and go fuck instead?" A shudder run through Travis' body at his words.

"No," Travis says and it's reluctant. Nolan thinks if he pushes he can get Travis to change his mind. He doesn't push, though, and instead watches Travis lick over his bottom lip, a flash of tongue. It sends a spike of heat down Nolan's spine. Fuck, he wants. His cock aches in the confines of his jeans and he's so close to saying fuck it and dragging Travis home without Kevin. "But I'll blow you in the bathroom if you want." Heat floods through his veins and Nolan needs.

"Now," Nolan demands and starts pushing Travis in the direction of the bathroom. He hopes no one is paying them any attention, really fucking hopes, because this has got to be obvious as hell -- really hard to play off two guys shoving their way to the bathrooms. It could end up as bad press, a story going wild with speculation. Yet that isn't enough to stop Nolan, that isn't enough to get him to care.

Nolan's getting tired of playing by everyone's rules. He wants to make his own.

Travis yanks him into a stall and shoves Nolan back against the door as he fumbles with the lock.

"We gotta be quick," Travis says as he sinks to his knees, as if Nolan didn't realize the situation at hand: where Travis is blowing him in a club bathroom, the music a constant vibration, a reminder that they're in public and anyone could walk in. There's no way that Nolan's going to last long enough for there to be any issue.

Nolan's head tips back, hitting the stall door with a soft thunk, when he feels Travis mouth at the head of his cock. He swallows back a whine, his hips stuttering forward until Travis' hands grip his hips firmly to keep them still.

"Don't tease," Nolan grits out. "I can't."

Then Travis finally swallows his length down and whatever embarrassing noise Nolan makes gets swallowed by the music. Nolan tangles his fingers in Travis' hair and holds on. 

It feels super quick when Nolan feels the familiar tightening in his balls, his orgasm quickly building, and Nolan tries to prolong the feeling, tries to think anything unsexy, but there's no use. His gaze drops down to Travis and finds him watching Nolan, his eyes half-lidded, his mouth working on Nolan's cock like he's absolutely gagging for it and that's it, game over. His body tenses as he comes and he can't help the loud moan that's ripped from his mouth as Travis eagerly swallows it all.

"Oh god," he whispers, feeling his knees buckle. Travis' hands tighten on his hips like he's expecting it and helps Nolan slide down to the floor. Later he'll care that he's sitting on the dirty floor, but not now. Now he feels a mess, trembling with the aftershocks, feeling like he could die in fucking bliss.

"Hey, hey, I got you. Shh." Travis' words slowly creep through the fog and it's then that Nolan realizes he's whining low in his throat. He's tugged forward so he's in the circle of Travis' arms, his face tucked into Travis' neck. "You were so good for me. So good, baby." He continues to murmur nonsense until Nolan feels like he's stable enough again.

The door opens and Nolan suddenly remembers again where they are. He tenses in Travis' arms but he doesn't pull away. He hears Ghost and Sanny chirping each other, laughing about who knows what, and it's obvious that they're drunk, hearing them fuck about before their voices trail off as they leave the room. Nolan draws back, his face a furious red that's not just from the orgasm, but he can't help the smile on his face when he sees Travis' eyes bright from restrained laughter.

"Don't you start--" Nolan warns, trying to sound stern. He thinks he mostly sounds loose and fucked out.

"I'm not starting anything!" Travis argues and manages a straight face for two beats before he dissolves in a fit of giggles. It's infectious and Nolan finds himself laughing right along with him. "Oh god, I'm sorry, we need to get the fuck out of here. Can you stand yet?"

"Yeah," Nolan replies and rubs a hand over his face.

They get to their feet with minimal difficulty and Nolan doesn't know who even initiates it, but they're kissing, and Nolan's licking into Travis' mouth to get a taste of himself on his tongue. Travis' hands gently cradle his face, stroking over his cheeks. Nolan can feel Travis hard against his thigh and when he presses up Travis sighes into his mouth, leaning more of his weight against him.

"Raincheck," Travis says against his mouth. "I wanna get you spread out on the bed for me."

Nolan groans softly and pushes Travis back. "Enough talking. More looking like you didn't just blow me in a public bathroom." He tries to smooth out some of the tangles in Travis' hair, but it mostly looks like a rat's nest at this point (fitting) so Nolan transfers the snapback back on Travis' head to hide the damage.

"How do I look?"

Nolan eyes him up and down before he shrugs. "Like a trainwreck," he says flatly, though there's a small smile on his face. "Get out of here."

Travis gives him a boyish smile, adjusts his snapback, and slips back out into the fray.

"Think we've hung around long enough that G won't have our hides if we leave?" Travis asks awhile later. 

They're standing at the bar watching some guys throw back shots like water, all clumsy-drunk and raucous and amusing as hell at this point -- or, at least, Nolan's standing, Travis keeps fidgeting around, shifting on his feet and nearly vibrating out of his skin. It's extreme, even for him, but Nolan isn't worried because he knows exactly why he's having a hard time. 

Heh, _a hard time_.

"I'm willing to take that risk," Nolan replies with a somber expression. Travis grins at him in relief.

Ultimately they do end up ditching Kevin, though it's probably more of a mutual kind of ditching, because Kevin's busy with the drinking game and his alcohol level is climbing higher and higher. The second he finds any horizontal surface he'll probably be out like a light. So that works out in their favor and especially in Travis' favor, who's constantly gravitating in Nolan's personal space like he's a mere seconds from jumping him, and as much as Nolan wants that-- not fucking here, okay?

"Let's go," Travis says decisively and they slip off into the crowd.

They don't say goodbye to anyone -- they'd probably all read it on their faces because Nolan fears they're not that subtle anymore, if they had ever been subtle at all.

The Uber ride is definitely top ten awkward -- it's quiet except for the soft radio the driver's playing, and Travis and Nolan sit as far apart as the backseat will allow, but Nolan still feels the heady anticipation in the air, how it's hovering like a fog. Travis' hands clench and unclench on his thighs with anxious energy. The bulge in his pants is obvious and Nolan looks away, swallowing hard at the sudden rush of spit in his mouth.

So yeah, the ride is awkward and way too fucking long. 

They barely get in the door before Travis' hands are on him, rucking up his shirt to touch skin, and his touch is confident, like he knows exactly what he wants to touch and how. Fingers lightly caress down Nolan's belly and he shivers, head tipping back against the door as Travis mouths at his neck. Then Travis' hands slide back and down over the curve of Nolan's ass, squeezing.

"Look at you," Travis says against his neck. "Desperate for me again. You came what, an hour ago? Two tops? Fuck, Nols. Look at you."

"This is all your fault," Nolan shoots back, sounding way too winded and unhinged.

"Better not be anyone else's," Travis says in a low voice, his voice a threat. His teeth sink in the delicate skin on Nolan's neck and Nolan hisses in response, arching his body into Travis'. And then Travis is speaking again and it takes Nolan a second to catch his words, "--make it to the bed."

Before Nolan can puzzle out the meaning of the words he's being pulled in the direction of the couch and pushed down on his knees into the cushion. His hands grab the back of the couch and he looks back over his shoulder at Travis. Their gazes meet, briefly, and Travis shoots him a sharp grin before he moves closer to kiss down Nolan's back. Nolan has half a second to wish his shirt away before his thoughts are distracted again when Travis yanks down his pants and boxers.

"Fuck, you have such a great ass. I don't fuck it nearly as much as it deserves." Travis palms his ass and one of his thumbs swipes down Nolan's crack, briefly catching on the rim, and it startles a moan out of Nolan. "Yeah, you're so sensitive too."

"Less talking," Nolan grits out. "More fucking." He breathes out harshly when Travis pulls his hands away.

"I don't think you're in a position to be making demands right now, babe."

"For fuck's sake-- oh _fuck_ ," Nolan moans out when Travis works a slick finger inside him. He leans forward to press his forehead against the back couch cushion, hips squirming, and he can feel Travis being fucking smug behind him, that asshole. And if Nolan could form more than two words together he'd give as good as he gets, but alas, he really isn't in a position to make demands, is he? Not that he'll ever give Travis the satisfaction and _agree_. All Nolan can do is ride it out as Travis works in a second finger, fingers curling and searching.

"So needy for this, aren't you?" Travis says, but he's sounding winded now, like someone's punched him in the gut. He's barely hanging on a thread with his own need as it is.

A whine bursts from Nolan when Travis finds his prostate, this sudden and needy sound, this high pitched sound he didn't know he was even capable of making -- but Travis has always been able to coax these noises from Nolan, with a twist of his fingers, his hips, or whatever body part getting filed or doing the filling. Nolan never used to be very loud in bed, some panting, grunting, but those times he'd never been in bed with Travis. Travis, who seems to know exactly what drives Nolan wild (and if he didn't know he certainly took the opportunity to learn).

So, to put it bluntly, Travis has ruined him. In the best way possible. Not that Nolan will ever admit that.

Nolan arches his back as Travis repeatedly strokes his fingers over Nolan's prostate, his breathing coming out in ragged gasps. "Trav," he manages out, his voice muffled into the cushion. He can't think straight enough to even beg, but either Travis seems to understand or he's at the point where he needs inside Nolan now, and either option is great for Nolan here.

He's empty for a few heartbeats before Travis is pressing inside -- the stretch is painful; Travis' cock isn't huge, but he's not small either, and Nolan's definitely not stretched out enough to take him easily, but they're both beyond that point right now. Nolan breathes through the pain once his cock is fully seated, Travis sealed up against his back, and despite being a ball of barely restrained energy Travis does give him time to adjust.

"Go," Nolan says, too soon, and he's going to feel this for days, but it's too damn good to care.

"Hold on," Travis mutters between his teeth. "Trying not to lose it here." A laugh bubbles up from Nolan and he feels Travis smile against the back of his neck. Travis shifts, planting his knees more firmly on the couch between Nolan's, and he places his hands on top Nolan's there on the back of the couch, weaving their fingers together and squeezing.

"Two pump chump." Nolan can't resist the chirp.

"I'll show you two pump chump," Travis mutters darkly and eases out before he thrusts hard back into Nolan. It's enough to effectively shut Nolan the hell up and into a writhing mess where all he can do is squirm back on Travis' cock.

Travis fucks him relentlessly -- relentless in the way he's in every other aspect of his life: always in your face and never backing down, never giving an inch, constant and intense, and it's all so Travis and Nolan just. He fucking loves it so much. He loves the way that Travis can make him feel, where he's so overloaded that it's a contradiction of _moremoremore_ and _toomuch_ and _notenough_.

"God, Patty," Travis breathes in his ear, a tremble in his voice, and it shoots through Nolan to pool hot and heavy in his stomach. 

This is definitely not a study in stamina; they're both already on edge from the club and at this point it's just a sprint to the finish. Nolan's orgasm hits him like a goddamn semi truck without any warning, and his body goes tight and tense around Travis' cock. He grinds into Nolan through it and there's a few stutters of Travis' hips before he spills, all liquid heat inside Nolan.

At some point Travis must have manhandled them back on the couch, because when Nolan finally comes to his senses and realizes what's going on he's already settled between Travis' thighs and protectively tucked up against his chest. Travis is quiet and relaxed, loosely reclined back against the corner of the couch where the armrest meets the back cushion. Nolan blinks slow and sleepy, not in a rush to break the moment.

Until he realizes he's sitting in a wet spot.

"There's fucking jizz on the couch," Nolan bitches against Travis' chest.

Travis laughs, low and pleased, right in his ear. It sends a shiver down Nolan's spine. "Get over it, baby boy." He sounds a lot like the cat that got the cream. God, he hates this asshole sometimes, and Nolan sighs hard but nuzzles in closer all the same.

They eventually move to the bed, where Nolan stretches out, all loose and fucked out, and yeah, he can easily say the day ended way better than it started.

The thing is, well, Nolan really isn't looking forward to Kevin coming over this afternoon. It's going to turn into a thing, he can just feel it, and Nolan isn't really looking anything emotionally difficult at the moment. It's their first full off day in god knows how long and Nolan wants to spend it in bed, with Travis. Except they screwed that pooch last night when Travis got too handsy at the club and running back home to fuck was more important than rekindling shit with an old friend. Or whatever it is -- it's not like Kevin ever really stopped being their friend, just. Shit got weird there with Gilly around, you know? It become a big old Thing with a capital T.

So now they have to get up and Nolan really doesn't want to -- even if they've literally slept in until afternoon and wasted half of their day off, but Nolan doesn't care. He'd stay in bed longer if he could.

"Do we really have to get up," Nolan mumbles against Travis' chest. He tries not to sound like he's whining, but he might be whining. Just a little. "We should just stay in bed."

"Tempting," Travis says and cards his fingers through Nolan's hair. He idly tries to pick out that tangles. "But we already ghosted him once and I do think he wants to talk."

"He should know me better than that. I never want to talk."

Travis huffs out a small laugh and flicks Nolan on the forehead. "You forget I know you better than anyone and I know the only reason you want to stay in bed is 'cause your ass is sore and you want me to pamper you."

Nolan glares at him. "You take that back."

"Never! You sayin' you ain't sore? You should let me check and make sure." Travis waggles his fingers at Nolan before making a big show of slipping his hand under the sheet.

"No," Nolan grumbles and scoots out of reach. "No need for that."

Travis smiles, rolling onto his side to face him. He props his head on his hand, elbow on the mattress, and looks at Nolan. "We should at least hear what he has to say, yeah? It'll be okay. If he's an asshole then I'll kick his ass out the door. Deal?"

"I guess. Deal." Nolan watches skeptically as Travis scoots closer, ready to scoot away if he makes any funny motions, but Travis just cups Nolan's face and kisses him.

"I got you," Travis says against his mouth. "Not gonna let anything happen to you." The words are soft and stupid and he still feels his cheeks go pink. It's ridiculous how much he likes Travis being protective over him because Nolan isn't weak, nor is he afraid to stand up for himself, but Travis still seems to feel the need to defend him at all costs. It's sweet, has a very chivalrous vibe, and it pleases Nolan more than he likes to admit.

One last lingering kiss before Travis draws away and he takes advantage of the distraction to land a sharp slap on Nolan's ass. It draws an embarrassing whining sound from Nolan and his body tenses from head to toe. 

"You are the worst fucking person in the world," Nolan says through gritted teeth. He takes back every fond feeling he's had for Travis -- fuck him, the stupid asshole. Next time he fucks Travis he's absolutely going to return the favor and not feel at all bad about it.

Travis chuckles, low, and wraps his arms tight around Nolan to keep him from going anywhere. Not that Nolan is in a position to move anywhere far, or very fast. "Hey, hey, I'm sorry, okay? I'm sorry." Nolan flinches when he feels Travis' hand on his ass, but he only strokes over the stinging skin. "Forgive me, baby?"

"Yeah, I'll forgive you," Nolan says in a low voice. His eyes roam Travis' face, taking in his still sleep crumpled look, his gaze warm and amused and fuck, he's just so stupid and pretty and Nolan feels so many feelings for him and he hates him and maybe loves him--

He tweaks Travis' nipple, hard. Travis yelps in surprise and it launches them in a spirited wrestling match -- too spirited for just waking up and for Nolan being able to literally still feel every inch of Travis from the night before. Travis has the upper hand, with an elbow to Nolan's ribs as he climbs on top of him to try and pin him down. His hands circle Nolan's wrists and his knees pin down Nolan's thighs and it's positioned enough where Nolan can't easily buck him off. Game over.

There's a loud banging on the door and it startles both of them. Travis freezes a beat longer than Nolan does, his grip going lax, and it gives Nolan enough edge to work his wrists free. He circles his arms around Travis and holds him tight against his chest.

"Fuck," Travis curses, annoyed, and melts against Nolan. "Cockblocked by the door. That's probably Hayesy, though. Let me up." Nolan gives him a squeeze before he lets go. Travis steals a quick kiss before he scrambles out of bed, speed dressing before he's gone.

Nolan, on the other hand, takes his time getting dressed. He rolls his eyes when he sees that Travis has accidentally (or not) grabbed his shirt instead. So Nolan fishes out something clean and that fits him properly, because maybe Travis would appreciate the view of him wearing a shirt that stretches too tight across his muscles, but well, Kevin doesn't need to see that shit. He looks presentable enough, and Kevin has definitely seen him worse, so he trudges out to the living room.

There's two boxes on pizza sitting on the coffee table when Nolan finally joins them.

"Hey Patty, my man. Now it's a party."

Nolan grunts and his gaze darts to Travis. The number 19 sits pretty on his chest and Nolan has to fight back the urge to drag him right back to bed, company be damned. Wrestling had been a bad idea -- it's left a small buzz of arousal humming in Nolan and he's admittedly kind of bummed that they can't start their day with morning (afternoon) sex.

But he's starving and there's pizza, so whatever. He sits down on the other side of Travis, tucking himself into the corner of the couch. Except he has a small flare of panic because this is the same couch they fucked on last night and Kevin's sitting, oh holy fuck-- Travis meets his eye and makes a subtle twirling motion with his index finger. He flipped the cushions -- that's a start, Nolan supposes. He grabs a plate and pizza and eats to forget.

Travis sits between them as a buffer. A subtle hint of protectiveness that has Nolan wanting to roll his eyes and wanting to smile at the same time. It's conflicting -- every fucking thing he feels about Travis usually is. He just wordlessly sighs instead, and stretches his long legs out, his shorts riding high up his thigh. Nolan catches Travis looking more than once.

Hoarders plays on the TV and they sit in comfortable silence while they inhale their pizza.

"You guys missed a wicked closing of events last night," Kevin says as he lightly tosses his plate onto the coffee table. "I won, by the way. I know you guys were so invested in the results."

"What was the prize? A hangover the size of Canada?" Travis is only half-paying Kevin attention. His hand reaches out to brush his fingers over the exposed tattoos, tracing them over and over. Goosebumps ripple across Nolan's skin at the soft touch. He wills his cock not to take an interest.

"You guys are gross," Kevin says flatly and Travis sends him a sheepish look. His fingers stop the tracing and he lets his hand just rest on Nolan's thigh instead. "Anyway, I'm not that hungover, thank you very much. I won bragging rights, of course."

Travis snorts. "Yeah, well. I think the drinking myself stupid days are over. I had better things to do with my time."

"Ohh," Kevin drawls with a chuckle, giving them a knowing look. It's not sitting well with Nolan right now -- anxiety licks at his insides, suddenly, wanting desperately for Kevin to not finish that thought. "I think you mean better people to do, right?" There's no malice or negative intent behind the words but Nolan still stiffens. Travis' hand lightly squeezes, a silent question. "We don't all have a pretty little thing on our arm like you guys do."

The silence stretches because Nolan knows Travis isn't going to be the one to break it -- for as loud and over the top as Travis can be, he's excellent at reading moments on the fly. He knows how to appropriately react or not react. Especially with Nolan and somehow always seeming to know when he needs to back down or when he needs to get Nolan out of his head. This right here is no different.

Except Nolan doesn't know what to say, how to approach the topic.

"What?" Kevin's asking.

"Is it funny?" Nolan finally asks. "Is our sexuality fucking funny?" Travis softly inhales next to him, but says nothing.

"What?" Kevin repeats, dumbly. "What? No. Of course not, I--" But he doesn't finish, his eyebrows furrowed like maybe he's starting to follow Nolan's line of thinking.

"Because I've been getting shit for months now about it, like I'm some fucking joke because I like cock and I'm really over it, bud." The words spill out of his mouth, unbidden, and he has to work to keep them from being a mumble, to keep them clear and easily heard. Nolan's sick of not being heard. Travis' grip tightens on his thigh and Nolan can feel him nearly vibrating with the urge to say something, but he remains silent. "I feel like a goddamn outcast in my own locker room, with a bunch of people that I know don't give one flying shit who I do in my free time and I'm fucking confused."

"Patty, I--" Kevin starts, but Nolan cuts him off, his words sharp, "Don't call me Patty right now."

Kevin breathes in slow like he's unprepared for this conversation and Nolan feels a vicious glee. Join the fucking club. "I never ignored you," Kevin says, his words slow and calculated. "I was there. I was. I just… held back some. We thought it was best to give some space and less ammo for Gilly to use."

"We," Nolan says flatly. "Who is we."

"G, mostly. Jake, Coots. Me. Beezy. G thought it'd help to keep things from escalating if we let things run the course."

Nolan stares at the TV and wills the stinging in his eyes to go away. Maybe it's sound reasoning, maybe it's something he'd buy into if he was in their shoes, but he's not and it feels mostly like abandonment. Let Nolan deal with the harassment on his own and turn away when things get too difficult. Nolan crosses his arms over his chest and makes himself as small as possible. 

"It," Kevin continues, "yeah, it didn't really work out, we know. But we didn't know what to do or how to fix it." At Nolan's continuing silence he says, "TK, come on, help me out. You gotta know it wasn't meant--"

"No," Travis says shortly.

"Teeks--"

"What I don't understand," Travis explodes out, his words a rush of rage and unrestrained malice, "is why everyone decided the right move was to abandon Pat instead of, oh I don't fucking know, sticking up for him? Like, that's such fairweather bullshit, Kev. It's okay to be friends with Pat again when Gilly isn't here to-- what? What the fuck was he even doing to you? Did he give you the stink eye, bud? Did he threaten your perfect heteronormative lifestyle?" Nolan side-eyes Travis, mouthing the word heteronormative.

"Heteronormative? Christ, Travis, where even--"

Travis laughs bitterly. "What? You think I don't see what the fuck is going on? I'm not ducking my head under the sand like everyone else. At least I'm not ashamed of myself and who I am. Like Beezy, who fucking--"

"Trav," Nolan says softly. "Don't." 

It takes some effort, but Nolan sees Travis shut down the words he has lined up. He sits there, his hand gripping Nolan's thigh tight, and his expression is a thundercloud. His jaw works, teeth grinding together. But then, suddenly, a realization seems to spread over his face and he turns a bemused expression on Kevin. "Since fucking when?" He asks.

"Since fucking-- I don't know, recently," Kevin replies and Nolan isn't following, not until Kevin adds, "I still like girls, but yeah, I don't know. Some guys get me thirsty, if you know what I mean."

Travis deflates like someone's let out all of the hot air in him. The anger fizzles into a low steady thrum, the explosiveness tamed, and now he just looks exhausted. Defeated. Nolan doesn't like that look on him. "He was protecting all of you," Travis mumbles. His voice pitches even lower, "By throwing Nolan to the wolves," and Nolan hears it, almost plain as day, but he doesn't think Kevin does judging the brief look of confusion.

"I guess so," Kevin says, hesitant like he knows he's missed a key component. 

Silence settles again, awkward. Kevin fidgets like he wants to say more, but he wisely keeps his mouth shut. Neither Travis nor Nolan make a move to break the silence for a long time, until Travis turns to him and asks, "Do you want some water? I need a drink." A slight incline of the head, not necessarily because Nolan's thirsty, and Travis disappears into the kitchen without giving Kevin a second glance.

As expected, Nolan hears slamming around as Travis takes too long to get a bottle of water. He looks at Kevin, who's chewing on his lip, and Nolan says softly, "You're afraid of him." Kevin only nods.

Nolan looks away, unable to look at Kevin anymore. It feels like there's too much written on his face that he doesn't want him to see. Too much lingering pain etched across his features, collecting in the soft valleys at the corners of his lips, his eyes, writing a story of disappointment and heartache. He wants to say that it's okay, that it's fine, whatever, so this will stop and Kevin will stop looking like a kicked puppy and just be Kevin again, but Travis' words still echo in his mind. Throwing Nolan to the wolves -- so they won't have to be.

Travis walks back into the room, but Nolan gets up suddenly. It's too much -- he feels like he's going to vibrate out of his skin. He feels raw and vulnerable, like he's never going to be okay again. So Nolan does the only thing he can: he flees. He crawls back in bed and lies face down, trying to breathe.

It's a few minutes later when Travis joins him. The bed slowly dips in next to him before Travis is very carefully crawling on top of him, stretching out over the length of Nolan's body. His weight grounds Nolan.

"Fuck him," Travis whispers and kisses along the tense line of his shoulders. "Fuck all of them. They don't deserve you, Nols. You're too good for this shit. You're so good, you're so amazing, and you don't deserve to be treated that way." He gently tugs sweaty pieces of hair from Nolan's face and kisses his temple.

It's all so soft and sweet and it makes Nolan's breath catch in his throat, it makes his heart ache. He feels overwhelmed and helpless in the onslaught of feelings. Like this is where he's going to shake apart and die, while Travis is here doing his best to ground Nolan in the present, but it's not enough, it's not quite enough for once--

"I love you," Travis says against his ear. "Patty, Patso. Nolan. I love you so goddamn much. I want you to know that, okay? I need you to know that."

It's like those words cut a string inside Nolan, the final string that's holding his emotions at bay, and Nolan's crying before he realizes it, ugly sobbing into the sheets. Travis remains a solid fixture on his back and his hands are everywhere, one tangled in Nolan's hair to rub at his scalp, the other running over his side, over his arm and down to grab his hand and lace their fingers together.

Nolan goes until he's running on empty, until there's no feelings remaining to haunt him. It's a lot like being fucked out, where there's nothing left but a quiet calmness in his mind -- it's just not as pleasurable, that's for sure.

Eventually Travis shifts off him because the sweat is starting to gather between them, hot and sticky, and Nolan knows his face is so red and so wet and so fucking digusting. Travis doesn't say anything though, just cards Nolan's hair from his face when he finally gathers the courage to roll over and face him. It's not the first time Travis has seen him cry, and it probably won't be the last, but it's still embarrassing. Travis only smiles, tucking a strand of hair behind Nolan's ear.

"Hey, stud," he murmurs.

Nolan snorts, wetly, but he says, "Hey."

"I want to kill him," Travis admits. His smile is forced now. "I want to kill Gilly. I want to kill Kev. Beezy. G. All of them."

"They were scared, Trav. That's all it was. They were fucking scared too." Nolan tucks in closer to him, letting himself settle back in Travis' arms, sweat be damned. Maybe it's the truth, that it's something as simple as them being scared, but it doesn't make the ache in his chest any easier. Judging by the sigh it doesn't help Travis, either.

"This fucking sucks, Nolan."

"I know," Nolan agrees softly. 

They don't talk for awhile after that. Nolan traces his fingers over the print of Travis' shirt and over the number 19 in the orange font. 

"You could give a boy a complex," Travis says eventually. Nolan slightly tilts his head to indicate he's listening, but Travis doesn't continue so Nolan reluctantly lifts his head to find Travis staring at him, obviously waiting. "I'm not usually met with tears when I tell someone I love them."

Nolan flushes, embarrassed. He glares at him. "Shut the fuck up," he shoots back, no malice in his voice. "That was the worst timing in fucking history, bud."

But Travis smiles at him, soft and sweet, like he knows exactly what he's doing -- which, Nolan knows he does, and that's the scary part. "I know you've been terrified of me saying it for months now. I personally thought it was great timing." Nolan's sure that his face can't possibly get anymore red, but Travis' smile only grows. "God, okay. I don't want to give you a fucking aneurysm here. Relax. We can put the feelings away for now."

"Thanks," Nolan says with a soft huff and then bites Travis' nipple. It gets Travis gasping and squirming, thighs falling open so Nolan takes the opportunity to kiss down his body, effectively shutting him up for good with his mouth.


	3. Chapter 3

They go on to have a seven game losing streak that spans through most of December. It ends up being a rough month, but then again, one could also say it's been a rough year in general. They haven't managed many highlights in the season so far, just mostly low points, and a good handful of points out of wildcard positioning -- not that it matters, yet, but it will soon enough and if they're too far to catch up, well, game fucking over, right.

There's talk -- there's always talk from the fucking media, from the analysts and so-called experts -- and to be expected the talk isn't in favor for them. They aren't going to right this ship; there's a firesale in the very near future. One of the top names they pick out is Nolan Patrick and no surprise, we've all been here before. Number two draft pick bust. He knows -- he's fucking aware. Thanks. It's not like it ever leaves his thoughts.

Nolan's been back on the top line with G and TK since Gilly's been out. Their chemistry gives the team an instant boost. It's not enough to win game number eight, but they dug in their heels and put in a solid effort. Those baby steps, something to build on -- even if sometimes it still feels like one step forward and five steps back.

But it's enough that Nolan finally stops holding his breath and waiting for the other shoe to drop.

So yeah, there's at least one bright spot among all this bullshit -- Nolan's been able to play in peace and not have to constantly check over his shoulder for someone coming after him. The line of his shoulders relaxes. His focus has increased, as well as his production. Go fucking figure. Unfortunately he can't just skate up to AV and go _I told you_ so without getting benched for a month and fined out the ass -- yeah, that's out of the question. It's been so obvious to Nolan how to fix the issue and he wonders how tightly management has their hooks in AV.

That's none of Nolan's business, though. He has enough to worry about. Right now all he's able to control is getting out on the ice and playing well, and so far so good.

It's five days before Christmas and they're in Vancouver for two days. Tomorrow's their last game before the small break for the holiday. So they have an entire day to kill with nothing on the schedule, a rarity for sure. Well, until Travis makes last minute plans to have lunch with Bo and his wife, but Nolan can't say that he minds so much.

They trudge outside, through the sludge and freezing rain, to the diner across the street from their hotel.

Bo greets them both with massive bear hugs -- he's just as touchy feely as Travis. The whole family is ridiculous like that. "Nolan fuckin' Patrick," Bo's saying as he draws back, "How you doing? Hoping you're making an honest man outta my cousin."

"Tall order," Nolan replies dryly, amused. "Not sure if that's possible."

Bo laughs. "Yeah, you're probably right. The pipsqueak is a lost cause."

"He is right here, you know, he can hear you," Travis mutters.

Lunch with Bo and Holly. It's a casual thing. Everyone's dressed down, in something comfortable and warm (except Travis who's wearing fucking slides that he probably wore to spite the weather).

Travis and Bo keep jawing back and forth about everything and anything. There's a lot about the game tomorrow night and who's going to fight and _I'm gonna fight you if you keep that up, bud_ and _you're too chicken to drop the mitts for me_ and round and round, where they'll stop, nobody knows. Nolan meets Holly's eyes across the table and they share similar fondly exasperated looks. He could be good at this WAG thing, or well, this HAB thing. In a perfect world they'd retire at the same time so it wouldn't even come up, but in an imperfect world Nolan's gonna keep his options open. He could be a good representative for Travis -- he can do bitchy with the best of them. If the need arose, of course. Not supposed to be fighting the press box and all, but you never know. Gotta be prepared.

When Bo and Holly are talking together, don't forget we need this and other things that Nolan tunes out, Travis nudges their knees together. He holds up a bite of his food on his fork, some pasta bake that's sure as shit not on Nolan's diet plan and Nolan suspects that it's not on Travis', either. His face goes hot -- because _right in front of your fucking cousin, Travis?_ \-- but he still leans in and quickly eats it. The moment is so domestic that Nolan is going to die, hands down just keel over and die right here in front of Bo fucking Horvat and God and everyone else. 

But Travis gives him a pleased soft little smile and just. Fuck. Nolan is so goddamn whipped for him it's disgusting.

If anyone would have asked Nolan a couple years ago if he'd be into this domestic shit he'd probably glare and say _fuck off_. It's not a position he ever expected to find himself in -- at the very least, maybe, he'd have a boy who'd want to play house and arrange lunch dates and double dates and Nolan would begrudgingly go because that's what he's supposed to do when dating someone, right? But he's willingly coming with Travis, even making suggestions on what they can do next. So goddamn domestic, but. Nolan likes it.

Maybe it's because they're so similar. Neither of them are interested in playing house, with the picket white fence and the two point five children. Most of their interests align so neatly that they relocate to Travis' cabin in the summer and spend time hunting and fishing and having sex that they're not left wanting anything else while they wait for hockey to pick back up. And just, it feels so easy. Like, sometimes they fight when one of them is being way too insufferable, but who doesn't? Their lives are so woven together that there just isn't any doubt that Travis won't return when he stalks off after blowing his lid about something or the other -- where the only concern is about Travis tracking mud through the house because he just had to take a run through the woods like a feral animal.

Nolan wonders if this is how things are supposed to feel: is this what Bo feels with Holly, G feels with Ryanne? When they go on and on about them and just have this lovesick look that makes Nolan cringe. He wonders, but he's too chicken to ask either of them. He thinks he gets it though -- he thinks he understands what all the fuss is about.

Travis knocks their knees together again and Nolan realizes he's been staring at him. He flushes and looks down at his food.

"Is it okay if I ask?" Bo sounds tentative in a way that Nolan isn't used to hearing, suspects that it's not a common occurrence for him.

"Goddamn it, Bo," Travis grouches and lets his fork clatter in the mostly empty bowl.

"What? I worry about you, you lil' shit."

Nolan glances between them, feeling dread slowly creeping up his spine. He's trying not to tense, but he feels his muscles start to lock up, one by one, until he's literally a marbled statue in his seat. Travis' hand finds his thigh and squeezes hard, grounding. Travis looks at him and admits, "I vented to him. About the issue we've been having with Gilly. Sorry, I should have let you know." He's staring pointedly at Nolan and Nolan has a moment to think _why are you lying, it's not we, it's me_ and then _oh_ , he understands.

"That's okay," Nolan says, feeling a bit winded.

Travis is nodding, and then focuses back on Bo. "Like, yeah, so I needed to vent to someone in hockey that wasn't on my team and I guess you did the trick." Underneath the table Nolan finds the hand on his thigh and he grabs it with his own, squeezing tight. Travis squeezes back.

"Someone in hockey? What? I'm _family_ , man. Thanks TK, love you too, kiddo."

Travis scowls at him, briefly, before breaking out in a smile, says, "Dick. You know I love you and value your wisdom and input. And shit." Bo rolls his eyes. "What? Glowing review, five stars. Will come again."

"That's better. I saw he got hurt awhile back, is he back?"

"Nah, he's been rehabbing in Lehigh and good fucking riddance, you know? I hope he stays up there and rots."

Bo idly taps his fingers against the table, looking thoughtful. "And Giroux isn't doing shit?"

Travis snorts bitterly. "Oh, he's doing shit. But not for us." As Travis explains what he's heard from Kevin, well, Nolan mostly tunes out but he does watch Bo's face -- where Travis' face has a constant series of open expressions there's a more subtle version in Bo's face that Travis can't usually manage, but still, the similarities are striking.

Interestingly enough, Nolan can tell that Bo is silently plotting -- those faces are definitely similar. With their teams playing each other tomorrow night Nolan can only guess what he has in mind.

Then Holly's asking him, "Do you want to escort me next door to the craft store?" Nolan blinks, but then nods. He's sure she really doesn't need escorted anywhere, but he's still a bit relieved to get away from this conversation. It still makes his insides squirmy to think about Gilly, his blood too hot with the fight or flight kneejerk reaction -- plus Travis is telling other people? Nolan isn't a fan, but he appreciates that Travis manages a tactful way of not singling Nolan the fuck out.

A part of Nolan wonders if Bo sees right through it, though. Like Travis would ever let himself be in this position-- But whatever, Nolan can't think too hard on this or it really fucks with him, go figure. Let the boys talk shit; let Travis get it off his chest.

"Bo's a good guy," Nolan tells her, playing nice, but he finds that he genuinely means it. She smiles.

"He's a good guy to have on your side," she agrees. "Like Travis."

This isn't the first time that Nolan's been around Bo. They've hung out a few times in the past, the most recent was last summer when Bo had dropped by London to visit the family and came down to Travis' cabin to spend a few days. He has a similar energy to Travis -- the whole family does, really -- this upbeat swagger that's etched in the way he carries himself. 

_The dogs run free while they sit around the fire and drink beers, shooting the shit. The evening turns to dusk, to night. Nolan finds himself naturally gravitating towards Bo the same way he does with Travis. They quickly build an easy rapport, and it should scare Nolan, how easy it is to find himself meshing with Travis' family. Slotting in like he belongs there -- thinks maybe he actually does, and he's proud that there's only a tiny flutter of panic instead of something all-encompassing, something that makes him shut down._

_No, Nolan isn't shutting down tonight. He smiles so much his cheeks hurt and thinks about how much he wants this for the rest of his life. Travis. Getting woven into his family like it means something._

_"Bo, buddy, Bo-Bo bear. You gotta swear to me--"_

_"Douche canoe."_

_Travis stares at him in shock with his mouth open, mid-sentence, his brain working slow and fuzzy from the alcohol. He starts to giggle. "What? Bud, no. No, I mean. You gotta swear that-- what, fuck. What was I talking about?" Both Bo and Nolan laugh at him. "It's not funny!"_

_More beer is consumed between the three of them and things only deteriorate from there, where Travis doesn't know how to stop running his mouth, and he gets progressively more and more ridiculous as the night goes on. Nolan's fond as fuck, but he's going to blame it on the drink._

_"O-kay boys," Bo says and stumbles to his feet. The dogs perk up from their spots near the fire. "It's way past my bedtime."_

_"Cheers," Nolan mumbles and gives him a sloppy salute._

_"Hope you ain't gonna make any moves on my cuz," Travis says once Bo goes inside. "Don't think I'm not afraid to fight him to the death, 'cause I ain't."_

_"'Cause cuz," Nolan echoes helpfully._

_Travis laughs at him, which is even more helpful. He eases out of his chair and into Nolan's lap with a grace that doesn't match the amount of beers he's drank tonight, cradling Nolan's hips between his sturdy thighs. Nolan's hands slide up those thighs and his fingers dip under Travis' shorts, creeping higher. Travis is warm and heavy and Nolan blinks at him with heavy eyes._

_"You're so drunk," Travis says. It sounds fond; it sounds happy. He rocks his hips down with no real sense of urgency and he finishes his beer, tossing it to the side. "I hope you're not too drunk to get it up, Patty. 'Cause I've wanted your dick in me since beer two."_

_"Only beer two?" Nolan mumbles, distracted, as he rocks with Travis. His cock fills and he chokes on a soft noise when Travis does that little rotating twist of his hips, fuck. Definitely not too drunk to get it up._

_"Shut up," Travis says with a laugh, a happy sound that goes straight through Nolan and has him quickly yanking at Travis' clothes so he can claim him right there by the fire._

You know, before the migraines consumed Nolan's life and turned everything to shit.

"Let's go for a drive," Travis says when they catch up with them again. His hand presses to the small of Nolan's back, subtle but possessive. It shouldn't make Nolan bite back a smile, but he does.

Okay, maybe not everything turned to shit.

They end up renting an SUV -- a sleek Land Rover with winter tires because the weather is still abysmal, with dark clouds that threaten far worse to come and streets that have already seen better days, covered in ice and snow. It's nothing neither of them aren't used to, Nolan especially, reigning from the infamous Winterpeg and this is nothing but an inconvenience, really. So while they're busy getting lost (thanks Travis) at least they aren't going to get stuck in a ditch somewhere. 

You know, the small victories and such. 

Which, speaking of victories. Travis doesn't even fight him for the aux cord and Nolan's suspicious, he is, but he chooses his favorite playlist before Travis changes his mind.

"Ho fuck, this song is--"

"Don't say it," Nolan cuts him off -- they've gone round and round about Nolan's music before, this is an old dance for fuck's sake. He adds, deadpan, "This song is upbeat." The song is not upbeat. Travis shoots him a baffled look and Nolan can't bite back the small smile. It turns into a surprised laugh when Travis reaches out to dig his fingers in Nolan's side. "Fuck off and pay attention to the road, jerkwad."

Travis gently mimics him in a snotty tone and Nolan breathes out a soft laugh, meeting Travis' gaze. His eyes are warm, the way they always are when he looks at Nolan, and Nolan wonders how he could ever be happy with someone else -- how he could ever love someone else. That thought hangs heavy in his head and Nolan swallows hard, feels like suddenly the vehicle is too small, the city is closing in around him--

"Light's green," Nolan says instead of what he really wants to say.

Travis rolls his eyes, good-natured, and focuses back on the road. He only gets one person honking at him -- might be a record for how long Nolan suspects they didn't notice the light.

The city blurs past the window and Nolan takes a moment to remember how to breathe. Distracts himself with all the Christmas decorations that twinkle merrily in the daylight, though they'll really shine in the dark. Traffic is god-awful as one would expect, but it's worth it to drive around and see the city. Nolan's not sure if Travis even has a gameplan, not worried enough to bother asking. He's content to sit back and enjoy the ride.

Eventually Travis asks, "What do you think about going shopping?" So he does have some idea, it appears. Nolan merely lifts his eyebrows in response and Travis grins. "Okay, that's a dumb question, eh? Fair enough. We're almost there, I think. Should be down one of these side streets."

The lot that Travis pulls into is an absolute nightmare and Nolan is seconds from telling him to turn the fuck around. Except he's pretty sure there's nowhere to actually turn around -- they're boxed in by the traffic behind him. Cars just seem to be coming from every possible direction, and Nolan wouldn't put it past them to somehow come from above, too. Fuck.

"Fuck," Travis curses when someone cuts him off too close for comfort. "Fucking animals, man." 

Nolan stares at him. Travis only chuckles and taps his fingers against the steering wheel -- it's ridiculous how composed he is; Nolan's sitting here composing his eulogy because he's going to die any second from vehicular manslaughter. He doesn't even know where they are, he hasn't seen a sign for anything, but this is going to be his final resting spot, he's sure of it. He's going to have an eternity to stew on this, of fucking course -- that sounds just like Travis, always driving him up the wall somehow.

"You think," Nolan says flatly. "Where the fuck are we."

Travis doesn't answer him, but he's focused on navigating the parking lot so Nolan will give him a pass, for now. And somehow Travis secures a spot near the front and Nolan will never ever understand how he manages it. He's not complaining, too much. 

Nolan squints at the wooden sign at the entrance now that he's in range and can take a moment to read it. "A Christmas Market?" He asks.

Travis grins, says, "A perfect opportunity for you to finally buy me a present." That's not something Nolan is going to bother answering; he's already gotten something for Travis weeks ago anyway, tucked away somewhere Travis won't find (so there). He just climbs out of the SUV.

As expected, it's crowded. Even worse than the nightmare the lot was, but Nolan doesn't mind so much because it gives him an excuse to keep plastered against Travis' side as they push through the crowds. Their hands brush occasionally, and from time to time Travis hooks their pinkies together and squeezes.

Nolan ends up buying too many vintage records and shit knitted by hand. _I'll get good enough to make you some scarves one day_ , Travis says and bumps their hips together, and Nolan nods, says, _You do that and I'll wear 'em_. He ends up buying too much in general, he might have a tiny thing for all this unique artisan crap, but Travis pays for it all and carries the bags like a perfect gentleman without a single complaint. Fucking enabler.

They spend a few hours wandering around aimlessly, seeing all the sights. Every time they walk by the small ice rink it catches Nolan's eye, but he's sure the ice is awful and it's not worth it. Plus, it's obviously too crowded. Except, fuck, Nolan is a ice hockey player and he wants on the ice. Any ice, and even if he just skated yesterday.

Nolan catches Travis eye, glances towards the rink and then back to Travis again. And Travis is only confused for a second before he blinks. "You wanna? Yeah?" And when Nolan's gaze darts back to the rink again, Travis breaks out in a smile, says, "Alright, let's do it. Lemme put the bags in the car -- you won't get lost, right?"

"Just for that I'm going to skate by myself," Nolan says.

It, predictably, gets Travis to whine. "Wait for me, Patso!"

"You got two minutes." Nolan taps his wrist.

"Motherfucker!" Travis rushes off and almost runs into someone in his haste. Nolan snickers at the dirty look Travis doesn't notice.

It probably takes Travis more like five minutes to hurry to the car and back, but Nolan isn't really timing him. He's sitting on a free bench he snagged, idly watching the skaters. A small child stumbles on her skates without any help and Nolan smiles at her determination. Someone joins him on the bench and Travis says, "Here you go," passing over a pair of skates. "Sorry they're not your custom made babies."

"I'll survive, I guess," Nolan mumbles.

"Just don't think of how many feet have been in them!"

"Ugh."

The ice is shit, as Nolan had expected, and he nearly trips when he skates over a nice-sized chunk missing in the ice that he doesn't notice until last second. Travis is there with an arm looped around Nolan to keep him upright. "Smooth," Travis says, trying to muffle a laugh.

Nolan scowls, but it only lasts a moment. It's incredibly hard to be anything but happy right now. He skates a lap and debates the pros and cons of grabbing Travis' hand right there in public. No one seems to be paying them any attention, lost in their own world and their own company, though Nolan knows those can be the most disastrous moments: lulled into that false sense of security, but fuck. He doesn't care right now. Nor does he think Travis does, either. 

Nolan wants that stupid domestic moment with his boyfriend. So Nolan grabs Travis' hand on the second lap. His fingers are cold, but grip his firmly and Travis shoots him a surprised but pleased look. There's a small goofy smile on his face like he can't just help it, and well, Nolan isn't going to think about how his own face looks. Red from the cold, red from blushing, his own stupid smile that he tries to hide.

They're both ridiculous disasters, basically.

They skate for awhile and only leave when it's too crowded. Travis almost face plants on his way off the ice and Nolan snickers, _It's like you don't skate for a living_ , and Travis squawks, offended, and they nearly get in a wrestling match right there. It's worth all the weird looks they get. Afterwards they grab something to eat, along with some coffee to go because Nolan needs caffeine before they brave the parking lot from hell again (okay, Travis braves it; Nolan mostly shuts his eyes and pretends he's somewhere else).

Their fingers tangle together again in the car, resting on the gearshift. 

Travis navigates them through the city, pointing out things here and there. Says _I think this is that one club we got hammered in during your rookie year_ and _do you remember puking on the curb_? Nolan remembers -- remembers hanging on Travis, forgetting that he even had the option of picking up that night because all he wanted was to be in Travis' space. Looking back, that was probably the beginning of the end. Or, you know. The start of his infatuation with Travis, the one that he has yet to get over. Nolan looks over at him, at his dumb facial hair and his mouth that doesn't ever shut the fuck up and well. 

Whatever. He looks away and smiles out the window.

It's heading on evening when Travis guides them out of the city. They're going farther and farther out, definitely getting more and more lost -- Travis' navigational skills have to have a flaw somewhere, right? The thing is though, and Nolan figures it's important to note, Travis never really gets them lost. It feels like a thing that should happen -- it feels like a Travis thing to charge blindly into the night without any preparation, be damned where they end up. And yeah, he does that, but somehow they don't get lost. They might get turned around a few times, but Travis never loses his calm or his handle on the situation, and somehow always manages to steer them in the right direction. 

It's fucking uncanny how good he is. 

As much as Nolan gives him shit, he knows that Travis would never let him end up abandoned in some ditch somewhere. Travis is way too protective over him for that. It makes it easy for Nolan to trudge after Travis when he has the whims to explore a new city, letting him take the reigns and the wheel.

Still, Nolan shoots him a skeptical look and asks, "Do you know where you're going?"

"Nope!" Travis says cheerfully and then turns up the music volume because TK is an asshole.

Travis drives up to a clearing and Nolan has only a few seconds to look out over the view of the city before Travis turns the rental around, backing into the parking area instead. It really defeats the point, Nolan thinks, but Travis is out of the SUV and Nolan has no choice but to see what the hell he's up to.

Turns out, Travis does have a good idea every once and awhile. He opens the trunk and folds the backseat down, and Nolan's understanding the plan when he pulls out a blanket he'd bought earlier at the market. It's a spot for them to curl up and look out over the view. It's so romantic that Nolan's teeth hurt, but he still climbs in when Travis gestures.

"Shoulda brought a pillow," Travis grumbles as he climbs in, careful not to knee any sensitive bits. "Fuck, sorry."

"Wait," Nolan says and squirms until he has the angle to fish around in the shopping bags. He comes back with a handful of knitted things he'd bought earlier. It's not exactly a pillow, but it's soft enough to do the trick. They shift together in the small space to get comfortable, with Travis tucked in against his side, cold nose pressed against Nolan's neck.

"Sorry, it's kinda cramped in here." Travis mumbles. It's freezing outside though, so Nolan doesn't really mind the extra body heat.

"Like you have any concept of personal space."

"I do," Travis argues and kisses Nolan's neck, a warm press of lips that makes him shiver. "Just not with you, Patty. Not with you." Which, yeah, that's fair. Nolan will give him that. "Anyway, if you need me to turn the car back on and blast the heat lemme know."

"We're not sleeping out here, right?"

"Nah," Travis agrees.

Nolan takes a moment to admire the view, the city that spans out in front of them, miles and miles of flickering lights. The sun is nearly set and casting a warm orange glow, shadows darkening, deepening. It's really kind of fucking nice and Nolan suspects he had help with this one. Bo, probably. Or Google. Nolan can absolutely picture Travis typing nearest makeout point in van in Google because he's fucking shameless. It's awful -- and sweet.

"You know, this is so lame," Nolan mumbles into Travis' hair.

"Yeah, I see you being so miserable," Travis drawls and leans back so he can look at him. Nolan rolls his eyes at him just for show Travis pats his cheek. "Yeah, miserable. Poor Patty, so unhappy. I feel for ya, babe, I really do."

"I could have been on the Canucks, you know. Living here instead."

Travis gives him a look, his eyes narrowing. "Don't you even fucking--"

"What?" Nolan asks, playing dumb. "You could have had Petterson instead. You could have a whole different boyfriend right now." 

"That fucking twink? Jesus fuck, no. I'd snap him like a twig." Travis makes gagging sounds.

"He's stronger than he looks-- _mmph_." That's when Travis climbs on top of him, all elbows and knees, and kisses him to shut him up. Typically it's the other way around, but Nolan digs the change of pace right now.

Cold hands cradle Nolan's face, thumbs brushing over the blush he's sure is lingering, blotching his cheeks with color. Lighting is poor at this point so he's thankfully hiding under the cover of darkness. He's sure Travis knows, though. Nolan's hands finds Travis' hips and squeeze before he rucks one up the back of his hoodie to trace the muscles in his back.

There's no real urgency in the kiss. Travis licks into his mouth to taste him, Nolan's jaw going slack under his fingers. It's demanding and pushy the way Travis usually is, but there's no real urgency in the kiss. Nolan thrums with lazily arousal, feels Travis' interest pressed snugly against his hip, but neither of them seem to be in any rush.

Travis shimmies down Nolan's body so he can rest his head on his chest. "I love you, Patty," he whispers into the darkness, tucking his hands under Nolan's back. While it doesn't give him that weird clenching anxiety anymore to hear those words, it still knocks the breath out of him -- and he doesn't think it'll ever not do that. "I'd like to think that I would have found you no matter what team you were on," Travis also says and just. 

That slays Nolan in such a good way -- so much that if his body goes out and his head gets dumb, well, he knows he'd at least be happy. However, he'd prefer to retain his mental facilities and living status for as long as possible. He's selfish, he wants to keep this for as long as he possibly can. Hell, he'd give up hockey before he gave up Travis, which, lowkey blows Nolan's mind so he tries not to think too hard on that. His grip just tightens on Travis and Nolan stares out over the city, a lump in his throat. It takes a long time for Nolan to find his voice again and Travis has been quiet for awhile now, his breathing slow and even, like maybe he's dozed off.

"I love you," Nolan's voice is barely audible. He's trying the words on for size and he likes how they feel on his lips. They feel right. Real. And he thinks maybe Travis really has dozed off, that would be nice maybe, but then he hears the softest sniffle and Nolan blurts out, " _Seriously_?"

Travis does a bad job of muffling a giggle against Nolan's chest. "I'm sorry! You can't just spring that on me and expect me not to react!"

"I was trying to have a moment," Nolan bitches.

The fucker always sees right through him, though. It's a blessing and a curse. "You were not. You thought I was asleep and that you'd get away from all the soppy aftermath. Well, guess what, buddy. You gotta deal with me being happy 'cause we're in lo-ove." He draws out the word love, a playful taunt.

"Shut up," Nolan grumbles, in bit of a pleased way. "I take it back." 

Except they both know he really doesn't take it back. He grabs Travis' chin and guides him into a kiss -- partly to keep Travis' mouth shut (verbally, at least), but also partly to keep Nolan from emoting all over him, all those feelings so close to the surface right now. He just kisses and kisses Travis, until air is short and his lips are swollen, knowing that the feeling is mutual.

-

More often than not it feels like they can never buy a damn win when they play the Canucks, but tonight they manage to pull off the win without a lot of trouble. It's a nice present, all in all: a win to carry over the break. And it's made even better than Bo gets G to drop the gloves -- Nolan isn't surprised in the slightest, he knew Bo had been plotting something. That family, man. The fight's pretty even in strength, Bo gets a nice swing in on G and they tumble to the ice together. Everyone taps their sticks in salute.

Travis leans against him, briefly, and asks, "Is this what it feels like when I fight people for you?"

"I think he's married," Nolan deadpans.

Travis shoots him a bewildered look. "I know? We literally just saw Holly yester-- _oh_ ," he cuts himself off and starts laughing. "Oh my god, Pats, I didn't mean it like that."

"You-- just, never mind."

Then Travis is saying in his ear, "There might have been a handy or two when I was like 15." Timed perfectly with Nolan taking a drink of water -- so Nolan struggles to swallow, coughing some of it back up. It's not often that Travis takes him completely off guard and go figure it's right in the middle of a game. Travis smacks him on the back, grinning, smug -- that fucking asshole. Just typical Travis fashion. 

" _Konecny. Patrick._ " AV barks at him. "Stop fucking around."

Nolan keeps his head down as he lines up, gritting his teeth when the ref checks on him, and tries not to die of fucking embarrassment. He regrets every single life choice he's made up until now.

Predictably, Nolan loses the faceoff.

But, the next shift Hughes coughs up the puck and it's a 2-on-1 with Nolan and Travis saucering a sweet pass to Nolan who easily puts it in the back of the net. Nolan grins as Travis shouts at him, wraps him in a big hug.

He supposes he can't stay too mad anymore, after that.

So yeah, Christmas break happens on a positive note. Some visit their families, while some wait to visit until the break for the new year -- Nolan and Travis are in the latter group, and yeah, they lose the game two days after Christmas, but it doesn't really put a damper on the holiday spirit. It's the first year both their families combine in what they hope is a new tradition. This year they congregate in Ontario -- Travis' parents, his grandfather, his brother, and Nolan's parents and sisters -- but _next year it's going to be in Winnipeg or else_ says Nolan's dad, all playful snark back and forth. 

It's so fucking domestic.

Maddie stands next to him and grins, says, "This is what you wanted Noley."

"Ugh," Nolan replies. His eyes dart to sneak a glance at Travis. "God. Yeah, it is." She's going to tease him for the rest forever, but he doesn't even mind for once. Plus, someday she's gonna bring someone home and Nolan will have fun with that payback.

When it's nearing midnight they sneak outside to be alone. They both straddle a lounge chair, sitting face to face with their knees pressed together. Travis holds his phone between them so they can count down the time.

"We could have just stayed inside," Nolan says.

"Yeah, but the way I'm gonna kiss you isn't for polite company. Definitely isn't for family." Fair enough -- not that Nolan had any burning desire to stay inside with the family either way.

The phone gets forgotten somewhere between them and Travis' hands tangle in Nolan hair as they kiss. There's a muffled cheer from inside, but the celebration has started early out on the deck, setting the new year off on the right foot.

But, as expected with these things, the other shoe finally drops. 

It's late January and they're playing against Boston, getting their asses handed to them. The black and gold team is up by three scores to the Flyer's lone goal from way back in the first period. The minutes are counting down and they're all prepared to lick their wounds on the flight to Toronto. They'll bounce back against the Leafs -- it's a solid plan and they're all in agreement.

At least, that was the plan. Someone has other ideas.

Nolan watches helplessly as Travis gets cross-checked on the numbers and his momentum takes him head first into the board. His body crumbles like a fucking ragdoll. Whistles blow immediately, urgently, and the medical staff is hurrying onto the ice. Though Nolan doesn't notice any of that -- his gaze zeroes in on the gold number 31 printed on the back of the guy's sweater and Nolan's vision blurs with rage. Every precaution not to fight, to take care of his body-- it's all gone. His head is empty except for the 31 in gold.

Nolan pushes through the bodies, gets shoved around, pulled away in the scramble, and finds himself face to face with someone else that he can't fucking stand. Marchand, who's grinning all rat-like, proud and pleased, and there's only one rat for Nolan thank you very much.

"Y'wanna dance with the big boys?" Marchand asks with a sneer. "Drop 'em, Patrick, or are ya too fucking scared, you pussy?"

Nolan flings his gloves to the ice.

"Enough talking," Nolan says and reaches to fist the front of Marchand's jersey, but Marchand slips back from his reach. They circle each other.

"Who you gonna hide behind now with yer little boyfriend hurt?" A sneer. "Who's gonna make you their bitch now?" And there's something-- something that sounds warning bells, but Nolan's too distracted to pay attention because he finally gets a fist full of jersey and attacks.

Maybe Marchand's scrappy, maybe he knows how to play dirty to level the playing field, but Nolan's wrestled enough with his own short little shithead, both for real and play, that he knows all the tricks. And when Marchard goes for his side first, aiming for the sliver that the pads don't quite cover, Nolan's ready for him. Nolan's fist makes solid contact with Marchand's cheekbone, he's pretty sure something cracks.

And Nolan doesn't stop when Marchand collapses to the ice, he follows him down, blinded by his rage.  
Someone has to pull Nolan off before he actually kills him. He's dragged away, shoved down the tunnel and Nolan blinks past the anger, trying to blink the smudge out of his vision. 

"I'll fuckin' kill you, Patrick," Marchand shouts and follows it up with some choice words. Nothing that Nolan hasn't heard before -- on the ice or in the locker room.

"Good luck, I'll be waiting for you!" 

And Nolan understands the rush Travis gets when he jumps in to defend his honor -- the smile is feral on Nolan's face; he feels downright feral. Invincible. Understands how easy it is for his mouth to write the checks his fists can't, or shouldn't, cash.

"That's enough. Get down the tunnel." The ref shoves him towards the tunnel. "Get off the ice. You're done for tonight."

"Fuck you," Nolan tosses over his shoulder but makes his way down the tunnel.

The locker room is empty. Nolan shoves over a bin, but his anger is fading fast and he's left feeling cold. The fuse burned hot and bright and fizzled out. He searches around, looking for Travis, but there's no sign of him. There's no sign of anyone. Frustrated, Nolan sits at his stall and stews and waits. And after what feels like hours, though is probably no more than ten minutes, someone on the medical staff finds him. 

"Hey, man," he says to Nolan. "Gonna need to check you over--"

"Can I see TK?" Doug quirks a faint smile that sends a sinking feeling searing through Nolan's gut. He's preparing for the worst -- it's gotta be bad news, something's wrong -- but then Nolan realizes the guy had said something. Not Doug. Brad, maybe. Nolan feels shitty for a brief moment that he doesn't remember and then interrupts him anyway, "What did you say?"

Brad-maybe shakes his head. "I said no can do, but I will say that he's okay. It's looking just like a concussion. All use of his extremities and all that, so good sign. But he's done for the roadie and going home."

Nolan purses his lips and allows himself to be guided away to be checked over. Maybe Nolan has his own concussion and can go home with Travis -- his past self would kick his ass so hard for that thought (hell, his present self still might do that), and he's a little ashamed, but stubbornly he stands by the thought, damn it.

Injuries are part of the game, but it still fucking sucks when one happens. Especially at the hands of some no-name piece of shit.

No concussion, which, is for the best. He's diagnosed with split knuckles and handed a bag of ice. No one on the staff is happy with him fighting and Nolan's surprised that AV doesn't flat out bench him for the next game in Toronto, but with Travis' injury, well, the first line would really be hurting so there's that.

Somehow he ends up on the plane -- how he gets here is a bit hazy, to be honest. Nolan's so goddamn tired, but he doesn't think he's going to be sleeping anytime soon. It's been a long time since he's slept without Travis at his side, which is both a blessing and a curse, so he's definitely not looking forward to this night alone. He sighs and rubs over his face. He tongues at the split in his lower lip.

He's not expecting anyone to sit down next to him. He didn't think anyone was brave enough. Nolan schools his face into a glare because company is the last thing he wants right now, but it quickly falls from his face. It's Kevin. Kevin doesn't say anything, just adjusts the bag of ice so it rests more over Nolan's torn knuckles.

Nolan looks away and doesn't say anything. A peace offering, of sorts. Kevin takes it and remains at his side, a quiet and steady presence.

"I'm rooming with you," Kevin says like there's going to be an argument from Nolan -- he could get away with a murdering spree and Nolan wouldn't say a goddamn peep. Or notice, for that matter. He barely notices that Kevin guides him to the room.

Nolan sits heavily on a bed and pulls out his phone. He checks over his messages just in case he missed something from Travis, though he's sure it's futile -- it's not like Travis is going to be allowed anywhere near his phone tonight. He has messages from his sisters. A friend from back home. And-- wait. There's one unread text from Travis. Twenty minutes ago. Travis. Fuck. Nolan frowns as he opens it and reads the message call me when u free. Immediately he hits dial, his heart in his throat.

"Patty, hey," Travis greets, his voice low, scratchy.

Nolan matches his tone, his own voice low and urgent, "You're not supposed to be on a screen, Trav."

Kevin looks over at him in surprise. Nolan ignores him as Travis makes some snuffling sound on the other end, in what Nolan assumes is supposed to be a dismissive tone.

"I'm okay, Pats, okay?" Travis says after a long pause.

The sound of Travis' voice helps ground Nolan, steady him, so he doesn't spiral out of control, but only to a certain extent. His voice lacks the usual inflection it carries, the warmth that's always directed at Nolan, and the warning flags in Nolan's mind wave with intensity. There's this rough edge, something lined with pain and probably a fair bit of nausea -- Nolan remembers Travis' last concussion and how he'd been nauseous for a week straight. 

And just. Nolan fucking aches for him.

"Promise?" The words slip out before Nolan can stop himself, hating how small they make him feel. He blinks back a sudden wave of tears. This hits way too close to the way things went last year -- when the migraines were at their worst, and Travis was halfway across the country on a roadie, both of them stuck in this never-ending dance around each other.

Travis breathes out heavily on the other end, like Nolan isn't the only one reminded. "Hey, bud. Nols. Of course. I'm okay, I promise. I'm too annoying to die, you know this."

Nolan lets out a surprised laugh, a bit wet. Travis makes a soft answering sound, his own sniffle. 

"I love you, okay?" Travis continues. There's an urgency to his words; it feels like he's struggling to get them out.

"I know," Nolan says and swallows hard, forcing out the stilted words, "I love you too."

"I love you so much, sweetheart, and I'm sorry I can't stay on the phone longer. Take care of yourself, okay? I'll see you tomorrow." The call is disconnected and silence remains.

Nolan takes in a shuddering breath and tosses his phone to the bed. He pinches the bridge of his nose, squeezing his eyes shut, and all he wants to do is cry, but Kevin is right there and Nolan isn't sure if he can allow himself that moment of weakness.

The feeling passes after a few minutes. Nolan wipes at his damp eyes and sees that Kevin must have disappeared into the bathroom at some point. Probably to give him some resemblance of privacy. It's enough. And Nolan takes a moment to change into his sleep clothes before he climbs back onto the bed, leaning back against the headboard. He turns on the TV.

Kevin soon rejoins him and sits next to him on the bed, leaving some space between them. They sit there in silence for awhile watching River Monsters.

"He said he's okay," Nolan finally offers during a commercial break. "Head's fucked up though."

"He's a tough fucker." Kevin pauses and then asks, "Are you okay, Patty?"

"I don't know what I am. No." Nolan's mouth works before his brain catches up, the words spilling from his mouth, raw and honest. He has no filter tonight.

"Patty," Kevin says. The gentle tone in that stupid accent makes Nolan want punch things, possibly Kevin for being so kind and understanding even if Nolan still hates him sometimes. But then Kevin slings an arm around Nolan's shoulders and Nolan feels himself wilt, apparently wanting physical contact more than he thought he did. "Tomorrow night you'll be able to see him and then you guys can cry on each other and you can read him those love sonnets--"

Nolan shoots him a glare and Kevin tries to maintain an innocent look but fails, smiles. "Ass," Nolan mutters.

"Hush, watch the fucking man-eating eels, pal." Kevin shudders when the program shows a graphic picture of the damage they can cause. "Ugh. They are electric! In water! That's just not normal."

"I guess you didn't see the episode with the fish that sliced someone's balls clean off." He smirks, a half-hearted attempt.

"What the fuck!" The screech is very loud and right in Nolan's ear -- that's definite hearing loss, for sure. Kevin's free hand cups his junk protectively. "No! That exists?! Oh my god, no swimming, no water. No fucking leaving the good ol' US of A, _ever_ \--" Nolan doesn't bother to point out that they literally aren't in the United States right now. It's fine. He'll be fine -- he'll rant himself out eventually.

As the episode progresses Nolan feels his eyes slowly growing heavy, until he can barely keep them open. "Stay," he mumbles when Kevin moves to climb into the other bed.

Nolan manages maybe two hours of sleep, but it's two hours more than he'd expected. Kevin doesn't look much better, like Nolan isn't the only one that's upset here, which, yeah, Travis is Kevin's best friend too. Kevin, who's been trying to make up for his mistakes, always trying to lend a hand, and just-- being there whenever Nolan turns and needs someone. Like last night. Forever patient and kind and optimistic and--

Fuck.

Nolan rubs his face and takes in a slow breath. Maybe it's time that he stops thinking of him as the enemy and let him back in again. So when Kevin hugs him before they leave, and instead of half-assing it or shying away, Nolan hugs him back. He mumbles, "When Teeks is feeling better you should come over and hang. I know he'd really like that-- we'd really like that." The answering smile is big and wide and stupid and it's obvious the message Nolan is trying to send is crystal clear.

"Yeah, buddy, that'd be great. Sign me up."

They stumble to the arena, dreading the game tonight. Not because it's the Leafs, but everyone's still reeling from the injury to Travis last night, so fresh in their minds. There's a lack of energy when he's not around, his presence sorely missed. So the locker room had already been quiet, but somehow it gets even more quiet. Kevin even stops mid sentence about his thoughts on the Leafs' goalie and Nolan doesn't want to look up, knows he shouldn't, it's not going to be good news.

He looks up.


	4. Chapter 4

Playing the Leafs is always an experience -- you never know which version you're going to get. That great cohesive team that dangles fucking circles around you or the mess of bodies that scatter around uselessly like a bunch of chickens with their heads cut off, ultimately sabotaging themselves. Nolan knows that Travis would be chirping them to hell and back, hurling insults and throwing a punch or two when they're mad enough to finally do something about him. It's always fun to watch him on the ice -- against any team.

_"Man, shut the fuck up," someone would snap his way, annoyed and exasperated, because Travis is an endless, incessant, constant litany of colorful hide-your-wife-hide-your-kids sort of language._

_"Who me?" Travis shoots back and look around like he doesn't know it's about him. "I didn't say a thing, bud. Should probably get your hearing checked, old man."_

_"Did you just call DeBrincat an old man?" Nolan asks when they're back on the bench._

_"Oh yeah," Travis replies with a sharp grin. "He's already got some grey hairs going on up there."_

Fuck, he misses Travis. And it's so difficult not to think about him and Nolan knows he needs to turn those thoughts off if he's going to finish the night unscathed. He tries to turn on hockey-mode and not let his thoughts wander into any dangerous territory.

Easier said than done, right.

During warmups Kevin sticks close to him, a look on his face daring anyone to mess with him or Nolan. Even Beezy takes his stretches on Nolan's other side, which, earns him a confused look but he resolutely gives Nolan a stubborn look in return, jaw set in a determined way. Apparently he's finally picked sides -- a bit late, maybe, but Beezy has never been a quick one to begin with.

"Patty."

Nolan's apparent bodyguards tense next to him as Gilly skates up and stops with a shower of snow. "I see you've upgraded from one girlfriend to double Canadian idiots. Fitting.”

"I'm from fuckin' New York--" Beezy squawks, offended, while Kevin says, "I'm from Boston, what--"

"Whatever," Gilly cuts them off, dismissive. "Maybe Patty won't lose us the game when these two get hurt next, you know?"

Nolan's eyes narrow and there's something just-- niggling, right fucking there at the tip of his tongue, but he can't figure out what it is. He isn't sure if it's something that Gilly had said or just his mere presence, which is absolutely more than enough to bother the hell out of Nolan. The thought slips away as quickly as it came -- his brain is working way overcapacity: with too little sleep and too much demand.

"Did anyone feel a draft suddenly?" Kevin asks, glancing between them. "It just got frigid like a bitch in here, yeah? Stinks too." 

It draws a snort from Beezy. "Oh ya. Dumbfuck, that came from you."

Nolan resists the urge to facepalm because, well, it's self-explanatory: idiots. Except it actually does the trick and gets Gilly to move on, though not without sliding a sour look in Nolan's direction first. He skates away and Nolan knows he'll be back at some point. It's an unstable truce that's teetering on a precipice -- sooner or later it's going to crumble.

They end up beating the Leafs -- though might be classified more as the Leafs beating themselves, but it's a W and no one is going to turn down one of those. They're precious and rare this season, after all. Unsurprisingly, Nolan's mind isn't really in the game. He makes a few key mistakes that lead to turnovers, but fortunately nothing that ends up in the back of their net, preserving Hartsy's well-deserved shut out. AV is hoarse by the time buzzer sounds and it's not just Nolan he's displeased with.

Hartsy's really the one to thank for the W, after you thank the Leafs. Some really fucking unbelievable saves, some standing on his head to cover when the D broke down. He deserves so much credit, for this game and for this season. He's always been the one that keeps them in the game -- at least until the team goes dumpster fire mode and self-destructs, of course.

Nolan's found some good chemistry on a line with G and Beezy. He finds Beezy with a slick saucer pass that quickly finds the back of the net. The lone goal in their thrilling 1-0 victory.

A heaviness remains in the locker room since the win. Part can be attributed to the loss of Travis and the lack of his energy in the room, but it's deepened ever since Gilly had first walked back into their locker room, hours ago, and hasn't lifted. He'd been greeted with pointed silence -- a reception far less positive than last time. 

Too little and too late, Nolan thinks as he sits there at his stall. He looks around the room. This feels something like a premonition of a setting in the not-so-distant future where Nolan's in a similar situation: sitting here on the bench in an unfamiliar and crowded locker room, miles from home, miles from Travis. The expansion draft -- a thorn in his side, a heaviness in his head and his heart. Always a thought within arms reach, never quite getting far enough away that he can let his guard down. It just sits there, waiting, haunting him.

Even now, surrounded by his teammates in this visitors locker room, Nolan feels haunted in a different way: right now it's September all over again, and this time? This time he's on his own. Nolan lifts his head to look at the stall next to his where Travis' jersey hangs in honor of their fallen teammate, lets out a slow breath.

Time to get home.

Except Nolan's cut off before he even makes it to the bus and you'll never guess who. Nolan sighs and wishes something could be simple for once, but that's a longshot, ain't it?

"Patty, Patty, Patty." The way Gilly says his name is absolutely grating, like nails on a chalkboard, but Nolan keeps his face expressionless. His hackles are rising, though, and his fight or flight instinct is starting to kick in. _Flight_. "Did you miss me, bro?" 

"As much as I missed a bear ripping me apart and using my intestines as jump rope." It's a one, two, three count before Gilly scowls -- he probably hadn't expected Nolan to say anything remotely like that. "That means not much, by the way. If you were confused by the logic."

"What the fuck? You think you're fucking funny?"

"You might have me confused with someone else. I'm not the funny one. I'm the asshole." Nolan's gaze drifts to the doors that lead outside, to freedom, and back home to Travis.

Gilly must either sense the lack of real interest or he's bored with Nolan talking back because a hand shoots out, shoving hard at Nolan's chest. His back hits the wall, a small jolt rattling his bones. It occurs to Nolan, suddenly, that no one else has left the locker room yet, thinks maybe this is where he's going to die, right here in this hallway in goddamn Toronto. Probably fitting, somehow. 

Nolan's gotten used to the semi-safety that having the team at least always around afforded him. Gilly couldn't do much other than verbally lash out, unless he wanted to have a lot of witnesses. Though Nolan figures witnesses aren't really what's stopping him, if he really had his mind set on something. But now though? There's no one around -- it's just him and Gilly and that makes his heart lurch in fear. Nolan can hold his own against Gilly, he's sure of that, but that's only if Gilly is playing by the rules. 

When has Gilly ever played by the rules? He'd bring a gun to a knife fight and blame it on the guy wielding the knife, the innocent one that's following the rules, but that's just the kind of person that Gilly is.

Gilly says, "Now, now. Trying to leave so soon? But I just got back up here. I missed you. I had to get back up here and see you somehow, don't you understand?"

His body goes cold -- it feels like ice water seizes his veins, constricting and tensing, and he's going to vibrate out of his skin. He searches for the lie in his words, but finds only truth. " _What_ ," he says flatly, anger creeping into his tone, "did you fucking say."

_Fight._

Everything clicks into place. The no-name that viciously boarded Travis. Marchand so eager to drop the gloves and his slurs about Travis. _Who's gonna make you their bitch?_ Everything reeks of Gilly's handiwork. The anger ignites suddenly, white-hot and searing, blinding all of Nolan's senses and sharpening his focus to the reason behind it all: Gilly. It doesn't matter what Gilly says next. It doesn't matter that this could ruin everything Nolan's worked so hard to come back for -- nothing matters, because Nolan's done rolling the fuck over for this prick. 

Not anymore.

The rage guides him and Nolan feels something in Gilly's face crack with his first punch. After that it's a blur -- he loses track and he loses count of how many punches he throws. He's not even sure if half of them land anywhere significant. Maybe Gilly gets in a punch or two, maybe he doesn't. It's just a free for all and Nolan's pretty sure the fight is uneven -- Gilly just doesn't get a _chance_.

Somehow, in all this mess and confusion, they end up wrestling on the floor. Nolan struggles when someone pulls him to his feet, still in take no prisoners mode, and he tries to pry off the arms locked around his waist, but whoever has him seems bigger and stronger than him.

"Get the _fuck_ off me." Nolan's voice is hoarse like he's been shouting.

"Patty, Pat, fuck. _Patty_ , c'mon, hey," a voice slowly filters in as the rest of the room just floods back into focus, a rush of overstimulation. Nolan's being guided away and Kevin's speaking, "Hey, yeah, it's me--"

"He hurt Travis." Nolan's voice is low and nearly gets lost in the commotion around them.

Except he does hear. Kevin's face hardens in a way that Nolan's never really seen before, not from him. Kevin's just so good-natured, this good ol' boy, and Nolan hasn't seen him furious, like, ever. Even on the ice when the other team is being one gigantic pain in the ass he's never gotten much more than mildly pissed -- even when someone's railroaded one of his buddies into the boards, just. Mildly pissed, okay.

"Wait here," Kevin demands and spins on a dime, marching off down the hallway. Nolan hears, "Did you fucking hurt the Teeks?"

Someone nearby mutters curse words under their breath and Nolan's getting steered away by two hands gripping his shoulders tight. Different hands because Kevin's looming over Gilly in a very threatening manner-- and then Nolan's led into some empty room, the door closing with a soft click. Nolan looks and sees G standing in front of the door.

"What, dad," Nolan says flatly. "Gonna take away my Xbox for fighting?"

G gives him a pinched look. "That's not as offensive as you wish it is, you know. And you started a shit show out there, you know, shouldn't I be asking you what? Like, _what in the hell_ , Pat?"

"You were too slow in asking. So I asked first."

They get in bit of a staring contest before G sighs and looks away. It's impossible to win with Nolan.

Nolan clenches and unclenches his hands. There's one person standing in the way of freedom and Nolan knows he could probably take G -- realistically though, he'd put up way more of a fight than Gilly would and Nolan would have to be closer to 100% to have a chance. Right now he's pretty far from that, batting well below five hundred. G's eyes narrow like he knows what Nolan's thinking. "We're just gonna-- hang in here. TK would kill me if I let you out there."

"But I started it," Nolan points out like he's talking to a child. "I was out there."

"You sure were," G mutters and then clears his throat. "What the hell happened?"

Now that the adrenaline is wearing off, well, Nolan feels like he's been run over by a train. One of those large freight trains with the endless line of cars. He unclenches his hands again and the pain hits hard and fast: a jolt through his right hand that shoots up his forearm. It pulses in time with his heartbeat. Nolan stubbornly stares at the floor, his jaw set and aching too.

"I can't fucking help you if you don't tell me what happened."

"Like you're going to help me anyway," Nolan shoots back before he can think better of it.

"Pat--"

"Ask fucking Hayesy, okay?" It's not a good enough answer and Nolan sees G open his mouth to complain and he doesn't want to hear it, can't stand this right now when everything feels like it's coming crashing down around him. So he blurts, "He's the reason TK is hurt. He set everything up."

There's a sharp inhale. "Shit, for real?"

"I just want to fucking leave, G. I want to go fucking home." His voice cracks and Nolan isn't proud to wear his heart on his sleeve in front of his fucking captain, but that's where he's at right now. He's barely keeping his head above water, exhausted and exasperated and overwhelmed.

G stares at him for a long moment before he sighs and rubs over his face. "Yeah, okay," he says. "What a fucking mess."

Everything is delayed a good hour after the incident. Word on the street -- the plane, from his teammates -- is that Nolan fucked him up real good. Gilly isn't on the plane when they take off and Nolan doesn't know what that means, doesn't care at this point. There's no whispers about possible punishments, though, because everyone's relieved that someone finally stood up to him, gave Gilly what he deserves. Nolan doesn't think about it either, but he knows one's coming. It's just another shoe waiting to drop. Nolan didn't realize he had this many fucking shoes.

This is more than enough to trigger a migraine and no surprise Nolan's head is aching, a steady drumbeat behind his eyes. He turns his head towards the window and lets the tears roll down his cheeks, a wet mix of pain, emotion, and exhaustion. The ice pack his hand is resting on is seeping through his pants to chill his thigh, but he barely notices. Kevin sits next to him, but doesn't bother him. Uncharacteristically he's quiet, barely says two words the entire trip, and he fidgets, never getting comfortable.

There aren't any words left to say that haven't been said before, that haven't been worried over, whispered fears with bated breath. Everything that Nolan had been afraid of happening is happening. All worst case scenarios. How far can it go? How far will it go before someone steps in and finally intervenes? At this point-- well, he's not optimistic. Management keeps sheltering this guy because who knows the fuck why (and who the fuck cares) and Nolan's going to have to stick up for himself, get punished for defending his sanity.

The flight home takes forever. Nolan's at the end of his rope by the time the plane finally lands. There's a smudge in his vision that's recently appeared and Nolan doesn't trust himself to drive anymore.

"Do you want to crash at our place?" Nolan asks.

Exhaustion is rolling off of Kevin in waves, he's nearly asleep there on his feet, and he squints in confusion at Nolan like this is a trick question. "You sure?"

"You drive or we Uber."

Kevin rubs his face. "I can drive."

The apartment is an icebox; Nolan instantly shivers when he steps inside. The AC is set to low low low even though it's still in the middle of a Philly winter. Nolan is instantly transported back to his migraine days and how he'd keep it freezing to stave off the nausea and numb the pain. It kills him to think that Travis is suffering a similar fate -- Nolan wouldn't wish his migraines on his worst fucking enemy (probably, maybe).

Nolan leaves all his shit at the door to promptly forget about in his haze of exhaustion and the migraine. He fumbles in the direction of the kitchen and lets Kevin fend for himself -- at some point he'd offered the other bed, the actual bed he shares with Travis (which is weird, but whatever), but he's sure that Kevin is going to crash on the couch like he always does. He downs his medicine without puking it back up immediately and he lets himself in the spare bedroom where Travis is holed up.

He's careful to shut the door quietly, but it still wakes Travis or either he's already awake. He hears shifting in the sheets. "Patty?" It's a soft mumble, voice hoarse. Nolan feels everything lift from his shoulders, everything that had been dragging him down since Travis got hurt.

"Yeah, it's me, Trav," Nolan replies in a low voice, exhaustion coating every syllable.

It takes a moment for his eyes to adjust, but there's not much to adjust to. There's a sliver of light under the door from the hallway, but other than that the room is nearly pitch black. It's a blessed relief for Nolan's migraine. He still has to navigate by feel and finds his way into the bed, collapsing next to Travis.

"Hi," Travis breathes and cocoons Nolan in the blanket with him. His lips graze Nolan's cheek, an absentminded gesture. Nolan hums softly in response, strokes over Travis' side.

They don't talk anymore because neither of them are up for it. Nolan hasn't been able to fully let his guard down since Travis got hurt and it's a relief to finally put it away, to let himself relax. His eyes close and he's out like a light.

Nolan sleeps like the dead and it carries over into the morning (or he thinks it's morning, could be afternoon by now) -- he wakes up feeling like death starting to warm over, some give in his muscles, but still tight and creaky and so goddamn sore. He's pretty sure that something died in his mouth overnight and his head is fuzzy, but the migraine is mostly gone. So that's a bit of bright news in his otherwise currently dismal situation.

As if a man could play a professional hockey game, get in a fist fight afterwards, fly home, and finally get to sleep at asscrack-o'clock and just spring out of bed the next day bright and early and bushy tailed-- Oh wait. That's exactly what Nolan did. However, there's no springing and bushy tails here, just stiffly rolling to try and reach for his phone on the nightstand. His hand finds nothing but empty space, his phone nowhere to be found. 

Nolan glares up at the ceiling -- existing is taking way more effort than he's ready to put in right now. He tries to remember last night, and of course he remembers all the shitty bits, but it's mostly a blur once he gets on the plane. Vaguely remembers inviting Kevin to spend the night because Nolan had wanted a ride home. He wonders if they locked the front door. Maybe the oven is on, who the fuck knows.

Nolan forces himself to get up. He needs to piss and he needs to find out what time it is and maybe find Kevin, in that order. His knee pops loudly in the silence and he winces, but Travis doesn't stir.

"It's only fucking nine o'clock?"

Kevin's in the kitchen and has his back to Nolan. He evidently didn't hear Nolan walk in because he jumps when Nolan speaks, something clattering on the counter. "Christ on a cracker," Kevin swears, glancing over his shoulder. "Make some more noise next time."

"That was noise," Nolan replies, clears his scratchy throat. The smell of coffee reaches Nolan, drawing him closer. 

Kevin, knowing this routine well enough, passes a mug into Nolan's hands. He falters when he actually gets a good look at Nolan. "Oh dude," he says. "Have you seen yourself in a mirror? You look rough, Patso."

"Give me the box score version."

"Well," Kevin drawls, going through several stupid faces before he settles on saying, "It's a good thing that TK is living in the dark right now." He makes an exaggerated wince and Nolan shoots him a flat look.

"You can leave any-fucking-time, bud. Door's right over there." Nolan jerks his thumb in the direction of the living room.

"After I made you coffee and when I'm planning on making you breakfast? Patty, please."

It's annoying how fucking well Kevin knows him and knows what he needs. Nolan's stomach growls faintly at the mention of food, getting hungrier by the second. He hadn't thought about feeding himself; he hadn't thought about himself at all for going on three days now and Kevin probably realizes this, that Nolan's own comfort is an afterthought to him at this point. Everything is TK.

"What are you making?"

"Pancakes." His gaze follows Nolan moving to take a seat at the bar. "Patty," his voice is gentle and that never bodes well, "do you realize you're still wearing your suit?"

No, not really. Nolan looks down at once sharp lines now creased and wrinkled, messy and half-tucked, and completely unsalvageable. You can at least give him credit that he's not wearing his jacket. Who knows where it is, though, probably in a pile on the floor somewhere and faring no better than the rest of the outfit.

Nolan still hasn't located his fucking phone, either.

"Yeah," Nolan says, just because.

"Do you want to get changed? The pancakes are almost ready."

"No."

Kevin doesn't push any further. The pancakes are sitting in front of Nolan moments later and they look good, they look delicious, but it's hard to find his appetite despite being hungry. He picks up his fork and catches sight of his split knuckles. It brings him pause. They haven't bothered him, that he'd noticed, until now, a thumping pain coursing through them. Something blossoms in his chest, huge and heavy and suffocating, and Nolan feels like he's going to shake apart. The tears come without warning, hot and heavy down his cheeks - there's zero chance to leave the room to cry in private.

"Shit," Kevin says. " _Shit_ , hey, buddy. Hey, it's gonna be okay. You're safe. Teeks is here. I'm here too." 

There's a hand on Nolan's back, much larger than Travis' slim hand, and he doesn't know why he even notices this so distinctly, but that's what makes the dam break. Kevin hugs Nolan against his chest in a secure grip and it's wrong, it's different, but it's comfort and Nolan isn't in any position to turn that away right now.

"Go," Kevin urges. "I'll take care of shit out here. I'll be around if you need me, okay?"

Nolan doesn't have the energy to argue. His feet guide him back to the spare bedroom; his body on autopilot as he climbs into the bed and he burrows into Travis like he can hide away from all his problems. 

"Patty," Travis rasps, sounding confused, and his confusion grows to concern, "What? Baby, what's wrong?"

"Bad day," he manages. "Long day." It's not a lie.

Travis probably wants to ask more, nearly vibrating with the curiosity and the need to make it right, but his current state won't allow him to do anything except this minimal comfort. It's not enough -- yet, it helps. There's something about Travis' presence alone that eases the tension along Nolan's shoulders, settles that trembling in the pit of his stomach. He remembers how to relax. So yeah, most of the day is Nolan hiding away and relearning how to be a stable human being again. A false sense of security, sure, but Nolan needs to refocus before he goes off the deep end.

A day isn't long enough, not by far. Tomorrow comes way too quickly. It's hard to drag himself out of bed and away from Travis. Away from the cocoon of safety that he's built with blankets and a pair of strong arms around him. But there's afternoon practice that Nolan can't afford to miss right now -- or ever, really, but especially after the drama in Toronto.

He's sore, exhausted, and there's a small (large) part of him that's dreading what's going to happen next. It should be a great few days to come. 

Nolan finally gets a good look at himself in the bathroom and well, as much as Nolan doesn't want to admit it: Kevin's right. Kevin's fucking right, okay; if Travis saw him now he'd be taking names and leaving a trail of broken bodies in his wake, who cares if he's concussed or not. Nothing would keep him in that bed -- dude's a damn hurricane, and ironically, Nolan's face looks like he's taken a round or two with one of those.

Most notably is the large purple bruise that spans along the length of his jawline. It's tender like a motherfucker, ugly as hell, but it's only a flesh wound. It'll heal. There's also large dark bags under his eyes and he just looks tired, worn out, in the worst way. The split lip he'd gotten from Marchand has mostly healed over and the last remaining visible damage is his scabbed knuckles.

Nolan wouldn't be cut out being an enforcer. 

Kevin, at least, is thinking. One of them has to and it's certainly not going to be Nolan. Kevin has the foresight to know that Nolan isn't on his A game and that he's going to need gently herded out of the door. Annoying, but fair since it's not like he even knew when practice started. So he probably has no room to talk. He just shuts up and accepts the ride to practice.

The first thing he notices is that Gilly isn't there. He hadn't really expected him to be, but you never know.

Practice is-- what he'd pretty much expected. Long. Annoying. Exhausting. He struggles to maintain any sort of focus through drills and ends up making mistakes. The coaches chew him out a few times, but they don't ride him as hard as they normally would. He's confused, but grateful.

"If Patrick hadn't lost his head because of his precious dicksucker." Then there's the Gilly brigade, small numbers but holding steady with these few members. All stubborn hard-headed idiots that are always itching for drama.

Nolan mutters under his breath, turning away. Almost bumping right into G.

"Pat, hey," G says. Nolan shoots him a hard look -- he's unable to school his feelings right now, still feeling off balance. It doesn't seem to faze G. He looks determined, which might not bode well for Nolan. "I just wanted to let you know. He has a meeting with the higher-ups later this week about his behavior. I can't promise it's gonna mean shit, though."

"Great," Nolan mutters.

"He's going to be out at least a week anyway, because you broke his orbital bone and his face is swollen. They don't know if it's going to require surgery. You did a number on him, kid."

"I shouldn't have had to."

"What?"

"I shouldn't have had to," Nolan repeats, an edge in his voice. His anger is building, is face getting red. A thought dances in his head, over and over, building. "This never should have gotten this far. But everyone ran around with their heads shoved so far up their asses--"

"You're right--"

"Oh I'm _right_ , big fucking deal. You threw me to the _wolves_ ," Nolan pauses because he realizes he's nearly shouting. He takes in a deep breath, trying to calm down, but doesn't quite manage it. His insides feel like broken glass, with every breath further damaging them, cutting him raw and wide the fuck open for anyone to see.

"I handled it wrong, okay? I never meant…" G trails off. He's not prepared for this conversation.

"I'm probably looking at a suspension for protecting myself and my fucking boyfriend. So fucking save it, okay? I don't want to hear it. I don't want to hear anymore of your bullshit."

G looks pained, but he doesn't try to stop Nolan. Like maybe he understands there's nothing more he can do. The damage is done, the window has closed and judgement day is coming. Probably not, though. G will retire in a few years and spend his post-hockey years happy and content, this drama nothing but a distant and vague memory of that time where things almost got out of hand, or something. Either way, there's certainly no worries or regrets about his hockey career.

Nolan, on the other hand, has a lot of worries and regrets about his own career. Right now that worry multiplies when he finds two suits standing in the locker room and waiting at his stall. They approach him, their faces betraying nothing and tell him, _do not dress for the next game_. It could be worse -- it could be better, but it could be a lot worse. He lets out a long sigh, his limbs feeling like jelly. 

"What was that about?" Kevin asks.

"I'm benched tomorrow night."

Kevin rolls his eyes. "Oh yeah, obviously the best course of action is to further hurt the team by putting us down another person. It's like they don't want us to get out of this rut."

"Might get a good draft pick out of it," Nolan mutters.

"God! If we were supposed to be throwing games I wish someone would have told us. We could have made it more interesting, or something."

"Or something," Nolan mimics softly before he looks at Kevin. "Can we get the fuck out of here?"

"You got it, bud-a-roo."

Nolan feels like he should be mad about getting benched, maybe argue the decision, but mostly he feels relieved. Which makes him feel a bit like a slacker, that he doesn't deserve to play at this level if he can't even bother to care about his career. But Travis is his number one priority right now, full stop, and if anyone has any opinion they can shove it you-know-where.

"Did something happen?" Travis sounds more focused than he had when Nolan came in awhile ago.

The silence that follows feels weighted and Nolan knows it makes him look guilty, because well, he is guilty. He doesn't know how Travis picked up on something being wrong. "Not now, okay? Not when you're feeling bad."

"Patso--"

"Please."

Nolan can almost hear the wheels turning in Travis' head because something isn't right and he doesn't know what it is. Much like a fly buzzing around, just out of swatting range, but audible. It's a testament to how bad Travis feels, though, that he doesn't push Nolan harder.

At some point Nolan must doze off, because the next thing he knows is that he's being blinded awake by-- fuck if he knows, it doesn't make any sense at first. Once his mind kicks into gear, working past the initial sleep-slow haze, he realizes what it is: Travis' fucking phone. He's shining the flashlight on Nolan's face to asses the damage. It's only day three -- Travis should not be on his phone. Except-- 

Travis had texted him day fucking one, hadn't he?

"What," he starts and has to clear his throat, "the fuck have I missed?" His whisper is urgent, alarmed.

Nolan grabs Travis' phone from him and clenches it in his hand. His heart is suddenly racing because this isn't the time for Travis to start asking questions. He manages to say, "Stay off your phone."

"Who the fuck punched you? You can't keep me in the dark here. Tell me."

 _I'll fucking lock you in this dark room if I have to_ , Nolan thinks but doesn't say. It won't go over well. "Why can't you understand that you can't be on your phone? You need to fucking rest, TK. Stop being a fucking idiot."

There's a long pause from Travis, but Nolan's sure it's not because he's considering those words. He's probably overstimulated, which is the exact thing Nolan had been wanting to avoid.

"Patso," Travis starts.

"Fucking rest," Nolan snaps, too loud, but his temper is flaring hot. He stalks out of the room.

Nolan slams Travis' phone on the kitchen counter with a loud clatter. "God fucking _damn_ it," he cusses. 

He tries to get a hold of his anger that's bubbling dangerously close to the surface with no outlet. He's said it before, and will say it again: this situation fucking sucks. A rock, a hard place -- Nolan's stuck in between, spelling out a nice recipe for disaster. There's no way that he can have this conversation with Travis when he isn't firing on all cylinders, but it's not like Travis is going to make this easy, of course. 

Then the guilt starts gnawing at Nolan. He has a moment to mull things over and he feels guilty for the way he had reacted -- Travis hadn't deserved the temper tantrum. Nolan had known that Travis would find out one way or another; it was just a matter of delaying the inevitable and maintaining damage control. Had hoped there would be a little more time than this. Should have known better. Never ever easy.

Nolan's hunched over the counter when he feels hands cup his hips from behind. He jumps, scared shitless, his body going ramrod straight. That's the absolute last thing that he'd expected -- they're alone in the house, Kevin's not here today, and it's not like Travis is up wandering the house with his concussion. 

Again: Nolan should have known better.

"What the fuck are you doing," Nolan says in a low voice, not turning around. His heart is racing his chest and he tries to breath through the rush. This much adrenaline in such a short period is probably not good for the ticker, or at least he'd have to figure.

Travis slides his arms around Nolan's middle, pressing a cheek against his shoulder, nuzzles. He hums and mumbles, "What'd I tell you about running away from me?"

"It's not going to happen," Nolan obediently recites from memory, from the last time that Nolan had tried to cut and run. Travis had very much imprinted that on his memory -- except that was years ago and a very different situation. Their relationship had been very new back then and Nolan very, very green. 

"Yep," Travis says, popping the P. "Who punched you?"

He's like a hound with a scent. So despite his symptoms: the nausea, the headaches, the light sensitivity (and those are just the ones he lets on) -- _it's not so bad_ , Travis insists, _I'll be great, all back to normal in a few days_ and Nolan proceeds to watch him do too much and then have to listen to Travis being sick -- he still follows Nolan out to the kitchen, well, that's a mere testament to how fucking stubborn and dogged his idiot boyfriend really is. Travis will collapse before he lets this drop, following that single-minded focus. He'll make residence on the kitchen floor, any floor where he'll be in the way, and grab pillows and blankets and settle in for the long con.

"I was in a fight. I had to defend your princessly honor." There's no response from Travis, he doesn't take the bait from the jab. The silence steadily eats at Nolan, until he finds himself filling it, wanting Travis to say something, anything, "It's not a big deal, Trav. I'm okay."

"Patty," he finally murmurs. One of his hands slides over Nolan's side, fingers dancing over his ribs. Nolan holds his breath, waiting. "Pat, I don't have that ability to tell when someone's lying like you do but fuck, I know you and I know you're lying to me."

Nolan feels himself deflate. "You're working with half a brain cell, Teeks. I need you to be at a solid one for this talk."

"Ass," Travis mumbles into his shoulder. "This isn't your fancy way of trying to get out of a feelings talk?"

"This is a really extravagant way of avoiding a feelings talk, don't you think?"

"Big word, Patso." There's a sigh from Travis and Nolan feels him nosing along his shoulderblade. Just when Nolan thinks maybe he'll let the subject drop, Travis asks, "Will you just tell me who?"

"Trav," Nolan starts, but doesn't really know what to say. He has no words, his brain is drawing up blanks, and the following silence tells Travis everything -- inch by inch Travis' body starts tensing.

"I saw you're benched," Travis says. He's struggling to get the words out and Nolan's suspecting there's another issue at play now. "I saw Gilly's benched for like, five games, and that he's suffering an undisclosed injury. I hope you fucked him up real good, Patty." A pause. "Plus, you didn't even tell me they called him up to replace me. That's kind of important info, babe."

"I have it handled."

"Oh yeah, I can sit back and relax now, bud. Smooth sailing." 

Seconds later there's a soft hiss out of Travis before he's scrambling across to the kitchen for the trash can. Nolan winces, waits patiently through the messy sounds of Travis getting sick. His own stomach rolls in sympathy. 

It's not hard convincing Travis to go back to bed after that.

-

It's been a week since Travis' concussion and the team's back in Philly after their one game road trip to Chicago. Nolan gets a text from Tazer about how he's bummed they couldn't meet up, but Nolan leaves it on read, not in the mood for playing nice with anyone right now. He barely manages to be presentable at his return to practice -- though, judging the wide berth most of the guys give him, well, maybe not.

After practice a reporter says, "Seems like there's some friction in the locker room lately." Looks at him expectantly. Nolan stares blankly back at him and waits. Uneasy, the reporter continues, fishing, "You were benched a game. Team decision. Gilly was benched for multiple games. Are those related?"

"Fucking hell," he mumbles and looks pointedly away.

"Your play seems to be suffering lately. Do you contribute that to the loss of your winger Konecny?"

"Fucking, what?" Nolan shakes his head. The mention of Travis makes his hackles rise. "Fuck this shit." He enunciates the words very clearly so nobody misunderstands. "Get the fuck away from my stall." As the media looks around bewildered and slowly backs away, Nolan finds G's eyes on him. Nolan shrugs at him, unapologetic, but to his surprise G's lips curl up in the slightest of smiles. 

Nolan stops at Wawa on the way home -- more and more he's becoming a local celebrity there: _that's another Flyers player, Steph, oh my god_ and somehow history just repeats itself. Whatever. At least Travis is making slow but steady progress, even if the only thing he requests are those damn pretzels.

There's a sliver of light coming in from the curtains, enough to actually see around the room. He can see Travis pushing himself to sit up. Can almost make out his features, but he's sure Travis' eyes are on him. It's an improvement, at least -- everyday Travis seems to be able to tolerate low light for longer amounts of time. Nolan remembers the long the uphill battle of getting better. He remembers the slow grind of taking it day by day, hour by fucking hour, and when one setback would cost him days of recovery. It was excruciating -- watching Travis endure this is nearly as excruciating.

Nolan's tried placing himself in Travis' shoes, imaging what it felt like to watch him suffer all those months, and he can't. It's only been a week here for Travis and Nolan's slowly dying inside. Fuck.

"Oh my god, I know what that is," Travis says in lieu of a greeting.

"Hello to you too," Nolan says dryly.

"I was going to say that it's my favorite boyfriend with my favorite pretzels, Patso."

"Favorite boyfriend," Nolan echoes and holds the bag just out of reach.

"Favorite only boyfriend, that I just love and adore. Fuck, what? Stop holding out on me."

Nolan snorts, handing over the bag. He observes, "Seems like you're feeling better."

"Yeah, it comes and goes. Sometimes I'm knocked on my ass again, but that's getting less and less frequent now." Travis takes a big bite of pretzel and says, muffled, "In that zone where the mind wants, but the body says no." It sounds more like mmph-mmph-words-mmph, but somehow Nolan still understands him.

Travis devours the pretzel and it doesn't immediately come back up. So far, so good. They curl up together under the blankets, Travis' head resting on Nolan's chest. Nolan idly strokes over the furrow in Travis' brow with his thumb, smoothing it out, over and over. He can't stop touching Travis to make sure that he's real and Travis eats up the attention like he's starved for it.

"Back to our old stomping grounds, eh?"

It surprises a soft snort out of Nolan. "Great," he deadpans. Travis spans his fingers out over Nolan's ribs, fingertips digging in slightly, like he's debating on tickling him or not. A familiar action, one that Nolan's poised to shove him away, but Travis behaves this time. Sort of. His hand slides lower, down over Nolan's thigh and hesitates there.

Nolan can feel the question before he even asks. "The hell are you wearing, Pats?"

"Your shorts." Never mind that it's February and Travis has the apartment thermostat set to 65 degrees.

There's a stuttered breath of shock. The hand slips under the hem of the shorts to cup the back of Nolan's thigh, hitching the leg up to bracket Travis' hip. "My shorts? You're going to stretch out the thighs and ass, babe."

Nolan swallows as his body stirs at the familiar closeness. "It's not my fault I have a better ass than you," he manages. Travis is playing with fire right now.

"God, you do have a great ass. When I feel better I'm gonna fuck you how you deserve." Playing with fire? Fuck, he doused them in lighterfluid and lit a match. The heat sears through Nolan's body -- it hits him all at once: the clench of arousal deep in his belly, the hum surging through his veins, heat fucking everywhere. Nolan's going wild with it. His cock hardens in his shorts and he feels Travis hardening in response. 

"I want to lick you all over," Travis continues, his lips against Nolan's throat, "I want to lick your thighs and all over those tats. I wanna lick you open, baby. Make you feel so good."

Nolan tightens the leg he has hooked around Travis' waist and their hips rock together. "Teeks," he says, helpless.

"I know, I know. Miss you so much, you know? Think about you sometimes, when we're spooning and you're all hot against my back. Wanted you to pull down my boxers and just fuck me."

That draws a whine from Nolan, deep in his throat and unexpected. He flushes at how desperate he sounds, at how desperate he feels, but Travis' hips hitch against his own in these small jerky motions and he's not the only one desperate here. Everything is intense -- this isn't going to last much longer. Not when Travis won't shut the fuck up, and definitely not when Travis works his hand further up the shorts to squeeze Nolan's ass.

"You're killing me," he grits out when he discovers Nolan isn't wearing any underwear.

"Are you close?" Nolan asks, urgent.

"I'm there, baby, fuck." 

Travis whines against Nolan's throat, his hips stuttering and completely ruining the barely-there rhythm they had going, but Nolan's already tipped over the edge, shooting his load in his shorts. They tremble through their orgasms, clutching each other close. It seems to last forever and Nolan's floating high above, never wanting to come down again.

But he does return to reality, slowly, and to the awesome feeling of sticky shorts on his sensitive cock.

"You got my shorts all dirty."

"That's all your fault, bud," Nolan shoots back, biting back a smile.

It takes some time before Nolan is willing to move, but he eventually gets them cleaned up. They don't bother pulling any new clothes on, just slip under the blankets naked. Travis gets them situated how he wants them, with Nolan spooning up behind him. It just reminds Nolan of the comment Travis had made earlier about this and his cock weakly twitches in interest, though it's too soon for any further reaction. Travis must feel it because he sighs happily, trying to snuggle further back against Nolan.

"I really wanna make love to you." Travis laces their fingers together while Nolan hides his flushed face. Concussed or not, Travis is always fishing for reactions from Nolan. "This is just… torture. Mind's two steps ahead, body's three steps behind. I probably shouldn't be bitching because my recovery time is cake compared to yours."

Nolan sighs. "It's hard either way," he mumbles. "You have a different problem than I did, still do."

"I guess." Travis plays with Nolan's fingers, strokes over his knuckles. "It feels like I made progress today. Orgasms are a real cure-all, Patty, you know? I remember when I used to blow you when your head was bad--"

"That was like, twice--"

"I'd say more like ten times--"

"What, no, shut up."

They struggle against each other, legs kicking and sliding over the sheets -- a poor imitation of their usual wrestling matches, but it's another step back to normalcy, the slow and steady climb to recovery. Nolan kicks him and Travis kicks back, a sharp pain in the shin. He messes up Travis' hair, more and more into an even bigger birds nest. 

"Uncle," Travis finally complains. It's a truce.

They settle with Travis lying on top of Nolan, weight pressing him down into the bed. It's a relief to just exist, to be, with no expectations from anyone. Lying curled with Travis, naked and sated, and content.

Travis is quiet long enough that Nolan thinks he's dozed off. Then there's fingers suddenly tracing over his ribs -- Nolan sucks in a small breath, not that it's ticklish, he's not expecting it. "Patty?" When Nolan hums in response Travis asks, "Tell me what the hell is going on?"

"I told you--"

"I can't be in the dark anymore. If I'm good enough to get off then I'm good enough to talk."

Nolan scowls slightly. "That's not how that works."

"Is too. Now 'fess up, bud."

The thing is-- Nolan really wants to 'fess up. He's tired of holding all of his cards close. Everything is right there, bubbling so close to the surface, waiting for this moment. It's easy to say, too easy, "I think I sabotaged my chances at staying with the team."

His words are met with silence. Nolan can feel the wheels turning in Travis' head as he tries to connect all the pieces. Then: "Why?" The word is asked slowly, drawn out like Travis isn't sure he wants to hear the answer. Tension is starting to creep into his body, and when Nolan doesn't respond quick enough, Travis presses, "Why? What's going on?"

It's like ripping off a bandaid, all at once or not at all -- "Gilly was behind the hit on you."

Travis sucks in a breath through his teeth. "I should have fucking known. God damn it. Should have fucking dealt with him. I should have just taken the hit way back in September, fuck that. It should have never gotten this far."

"Trav--"

Then Travis turns narrowed eyes at him. "And you. You're just telling me this now? For fuck's sake, Nolan, I fucking told you not to hide shit from me."

"I'm not fucking hiding it, _Travis_." Nolan argues back, annoyed. "You have a head injury, what the fuck am I supposed to do, eh? Pile it on for you?"

"Yes. Fucked head or not, I'm still here for you."

"I don't know when you expected me to find the time. Between when you were throwing up or what, the dizzy spells? Hey Travis, I know the room is spinning but I have important news for you. I'm an asshole, but at least I tried to give a shit about your health. My fucking bad."

The look Travis shoots him is annoyed, challenging, and Nolan returns it, waiting. Travis' jaw works and his gaze finally slides away, relenting. It's not over -- the conversation is far from over, so Nolan just waits.

"You fought Gilly," Travis states as he starts to fit the puzzle pieces together.

"Yeah."

Travis rubs over his face with a groan. "You're killing me, Pats. I can't believe you fucking fought him."

"I won," Nolan says defensively.

The look that Travis shoots him would fell a weaker man. "Is that why you think you're not staying?"

"Yeah, probably. I feel like a bust at this point. Nothing but drama." Going round and round in circles -- same conversation different day, different night. Nolan doesn't think he'll ever dodge the feeling, though, that lingers, probably following him throughout his career. Always be there in his rearview, two steps behind him.

Travis sighs, reaching out to cup Nolan's cheeks. "What'd I fucking tell you about saying that shit? You're not a bust. You netted 15 goals after being out an entire season. I'm proud of you." 

The attention makes Nolan itchy. He has to look away from the look Travis is giving him, a look so soft and sweet and happy, like he really is proud of Nolan and that's just. That's way too much to take right now in one sitting. Nolan needs these moments broken down in smaller, more manageable pieces.

"I'm still gone, probably," he mumbles. 

"If you leave, I'm coming with you."

"That's not how--"

"The fuck I ain't. You just watch me." It's such a typical Travis answer -- cocky and confident and positive -- and it makes Nolan snort. They end up smiling at each other and the future doesn't seem so bleak anymore.

Travis is slated to return soon. Gilly is not.

Really, there's very few people that are bothered by the absence of Gilly, very few, and the ones that are bothered are just butthurt for whatever reason. It follows the same logic as to why they liked Gilly in the first place: _there is no fucking logic_.

"Glad your boy toy is back?" Provy asks.

"You mean my fucking boyfriend," Nolan snaps, not caring who hears (probably the entire team because Nolan didn't keep his voice down). He's done hiding the worst-kept secret in the room. And he reckons soon enough his words will trickle out the locker room door and into the far spreading reaches of the league, but that's for another day to deal with.

"You tell 'em, babe," Travis says from the doorway and Nolan turns sharply on his heel, surprised to see him. He remembers very distinctly leaving without Travis this morning. Travis gives him a sly smile. "Hey, whassup?"

"Thought you were coming back tomorrow. How'd you even-- fuck, never mind." Nolan marches straight over to him and hugs him.

"No kissing in the locker room!" Coots yells.

"We're not kissing!" Travis shouts back, but he's smiling. "Fuck's sake."

"That's what they all say!" Both Nolan and Travis hold up their middle fingers in response.

The energy in the room has already improved and it's barely been twenty seconds, if that. Travis is just one of those guys that bring an instant energy boost, a shot of adrenaline -- and it's not just from his personality, it helps of course, but it's also the way he plays, hard and gritty and his heart always on his sleeve. The way he leads by example.

As they're getting suited up for practice, Travis leans over and bites Nolan's bicep hard enough to really make him feel it. And he only smiles when Nolan shoots him a glare, the little freak. "It's good to be back," Travis says. "I missed your glowing face, Patty."

Nolan's glare softens. "You saw me at home," he points out.

"Yeah, but that's home Patty. This is hockey Patty."

"Right."

"And you know I love both like whoa."

They're in the middle of public for fuck's sake. Nolan flushes and ducks his head, muttering his annoyance under his breath. Except Travis takes advantage of Nolan's momentary distraction to get an arm around his neck, yanking him down so he can press a big smacking wet kiss to Nolan's temple. Nolan groans, elbowing him hard in the side. Travis cackles loudly in his ear. Fucking asshole -- some things never change.

Hockey doesn't change much either. The team wins and loses. And loses and loses. The team is bumped out of playoff contention fairly quickly and at this point the guys are playing for contracts -- Nolan is too, he's putting in the work and potting more goals with Travis back on assist, but there's still that niggling thought in the back of his mind. His chances of staying here are probably slim to none. Still, he has to try.

It's not until the beginning of March that Nolan even realizes what's different about this picture. The team is a much more cohesive unit and whatever drama that had been lingering is gone. Then he realizes why: Gilly never came back from his suspension. It's weird to admit that Nolan had forgotten about the guy.

So the thing is, well. Gilly never ends up coming back. The team quietly puts him on waivers and there's no fanfare, there's no warning, just one day he's wiped clean from the roster. The end -- no more Gilly. There should be relief, jubilation, but instead Nolan feels a weird complicated twist in his gut. Too little, too late. There's no closure.

They're at practice when Nolan finally asks, "He's gone?" 

G looks at him and slowly nods. Doesn't have to ask who he's talking about. "Yep. Designated him last week."

"Good fucking riddance," Travis pipes up. "Ain't no place for him on this team. Hope I don't see him again, that son of a bitch. He deserves his ass kicked across the state of Pennsylvania and then some."

There's some murmuring of agreement. Except, then, "I can't believe he's gone," Provy says, unable to let it go. "He was a good player. Hard-working."

"Puh- _lease_ ," Travis drawls, his tone dismissive. "He didn't know his dick from his asshole."

That only further agitates Provy, who seems to be itching for a fight. "I don't know what your fucking problem with him is, Konecny. Because he didn't agree with your lifestyle? Is that reason to--"

"Stop fucking talking," Travis cuts in, voice sharp as glass. His face is thunderous as he skates closer to Provy, using every inch of his small but sturdy frame to intimidate. "If you say one more word about Gilly I will fucking dance with you out back, I do not give a shit if we're friends, Provs, I will end you. There's a difference between not agreeing with my lifestyle and being a homophobic prick, I suggest you look it up."

Provy's jaw is clenched, teeth grinding. His eyes dart around, looking for anyone on his side, but no one meets his gaze. He must realize this isn't a fight he's going to win. "Whatever," he mutters and skates off the ice.

Travis watches him go and waits until he's out of earshot before he spits, "Fuck you and fuck your mom and I hope you die a long slow death of your cock and balls being ripped off you homophobic piece of shit."

The ice is silent for a long beat, two beats, until Jake says, "Good practice, eh?"

Travis blinks out his trance and snickers before he howls obnoxiously at the ceiling because obviously, what else would he do? Nolan rolls his eyes and shoves at Travis' helmet, mumbling, "Idiot." It comes out way too fond. They mess around on the ice a bit longer once practice is officially called and don't find Provy in the locker room when they walk in -- fine by Nolan. 

When they're changed and nearly ready to go, G appears and passes Nolan a newspaper clipping. Nolan stares at his retreating back, confused and annoyed, because is he supposed to read minds here now? Or, well, read a newspaper clipping? Who even gets the newspaper anymore? The fuck.

His first reaction is ball his hand into a fist and crumple the article. But he rethinks that decision, releasing his grip and he smooths it out so he can pass it to Travis.

"I always wanted a crumpled newspaper. You're getting better at this gift giving thing." Travis' voice is dry, but his eyes are shining with amusement. 

"Read it."

There's a small furrow in Travis' brow at Nolan's short tone, but he obediently scans the article. All the mirth slowly falls from his expression and gets replaced with something hard. "Is this for real, Patty?" He asks even though he already knows the truth.

"Apparently."

It's an article about the team -- a lot about the front office and someone getting fired for some minor misconduct issue. All the usual stuff: cleaning house, looking to move the team in a different direction, and putting all their focus on building the team back to glory. Same bullshit, different day. But what really catches Nolan's attention is the name of the suit that got fired, his last name. Gilbert.

Fucking Gilly. Nolan puts two and two together and gets bullshit. If that man is related to Gilly-- fuck, it makes perfect sense. So much sense that he doesn't want to think about it anymore because it only sends a sliver of unease down his spine.

"I don't even know what to say." Travis crumples the article and tosses it at the trash can. It misses by a mile, but he doesn't pick it up.

"Same," Nolan agrees and then changes the subject, "Can we pick up Chinese? Dragon House?"

"It really is like Christmas," Travis says and shoulders both of their bags. "Your gifts are getting better and better."

And that's fucking that, really.

The weeks slowly chug along and the team continues to play mediocre games -- never anything inspiring, never inciting much more than shake of the head from AV. A good game when things go well enough to deserve one. There's whispers that his job runs out with the season -- his demeanor indicates these whispers are true. Job or not, spot on the team or not, everyone's eyes are still on the same prize: the last game of the season. This season desperately needs to end so it can be tucked away, forgotten about.

Maybe, after this season, the whole team will be shipped off and they'll start fresh.

Nolan's been assured that they're doing everything they can to protect him from the expansion draft. They want to see him in Philly for years to come, a high ceiling, good potential-- whatever else they had said. Nolan's not exactly holding his breath here -- they say this shit all the time but it doesn't always pan out. 

But at least they finish the season on a high note, with a win 6-1 over the Penguins. No matter the scenario it always feel good to crush the Pens on home ice. Nolan manages to net two goals, nearly gets an empty netter, and Travis assists on both of the goals. 

That's it -- hockey's finished. Nolan doesn't have to think about it for months, doesn't have to see any of the guys for months if he doesn't want to and just. Something finally loosens in his chest and gives way at the thought of this nightmare being finally and totally over. Nolan sits there on the bench, half-dressed and distracted, when Travis slings an arm around his shoulders. 

"What a way to end the season, Patso. Fucking sick. That first goal of yours, holy fuck! I still don't know how you managed to split the D like that." 

"Letang always gets flat-footed," Nolan mumbles.

"Yeah, he's getting fuckin' old," Travis says with a laugh.

Travis remains pressed along his side and they're sharing body heat, sweat collecting between them. It's getting gross so Nolan shoves at him. "You really need a shower, bud."

"It's the stink of love, Pattycakes."

Nolan gives him a glare of love. It doesn't faze Travis because he just leans in and kisses Nolan's temple, right where his hair is curling with sweat.

"I saw that!" Coots shouts. Eyes like a fucking hawk, man. "That was a fucking kiss! I said no-- fuck," he tries to maintain the serious expression, but it's ruined when he laughs, "Fuck it. Kids, man. I tell ya." Suddenly he's standing in front of them, holding out his fist to bump. "Don't do anything I wouldn't do."

"Thanks, pops!" Travis says brightly while Nolan mutters, "Gross."

Travis puts approximately once inch between them and shoots him a smile, his eyes crinkling happily. "Now where, baby?"

Nolan finds himself staring at him a beat too long. Travis' hand finds his knee and squeezes. He's so incredibly lucky that he gets this, that he gets Travis, who has stuck with him through thick and thin. It makes him want to word vomit all over Travis, which is an interesting feeling because Nolan doesn't even know what the hell he'd say. "Don't care," Nolan finally mumbles. "As long as I'm with you."

"Great, bud. Since I got two one way tickets and they're non-refundable so you're stuck with me 'til the cows come home."

Nolan snorts because _what TK_ and he pinches the soft skin inside Travis' elbow. The outraged sound he makes is totally worth the sweaty shirt Nolan gets rubbed in his face.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> so, wow, okay. this took me so long to finish up, i apologize for the wait! and i apologize if i don't reply to your comments, but they are read and very much appreciated. thanks for reading! hope you enjoyed!


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